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PHEMIE’S 


TEMPTATION. 

» V 

^ Uouel. 


MARION HARLAND, 

AUTHOR OF 

“fisttSB,” ‘‘mjQIlEIi-Eiaai,” “nemesis,-’ “moss side,” “MIRIAil,” “HUSKS,” 
“HELEN GARDNER,” “ SUNNYRANK,” “HUSBANDS AND HOIHES,” 
“RUBY’S HUSBAND,” ETC. 



NEW YORK: 

Carleton^ Publisher^ Madison Square, 

LONDON : S. LOW, SON & CO. 

M DCCC LXIX. 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by 
M. VIRGINIA TERHUNE, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 

District of New York. 


The New York Printing Company, 
8i, 83, and 85 Centre Street^ 

New York. 


PHEMIE’S TEMPTATION. 


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PHEMIE’S TEMPTATION. 


CHAPTER I. 

ROWLAND!” 

?he book-keeper glanced up from the 
^ lines of figures she was computing, 
j was young— just three-and- twenty — 
I a remarkable-looking girl. It was 
not that her eyes were brown and bright; that the 
mouth, which might else have been objected to as 
large, was redly ripe as a June cherry, and held a 
wealth of perfect teeth ; that her brunette com- 
plexion was clear and warm, and just now flushed 
to brilliancy by the heat of the store. These attrac- 
tions might have been massed in another face, and 
nof have challenged the second and more prolonged 
gaze most observers were constrained to bestow upon 
hers. Her dark hair was parted on the left side, 
and, sweeping across the brow, made it square as 
well as broad, an effect heightened by the breadth 



8 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


of the under jaw, and the firm, cleft chin. The 
short bow of the upper lip bespoke decision and 
spirit; the passionate pout of the lower was that of 
a petted and loving child. There were no unfinished 
curves, no lax lines in contour or in feature, and the 
expi^ession of the whole was power — of feeling, as 
of thought. Her dress was simple in the extreme, 
and unsuited to the season. It was buff Hankeen, 
trimmed with black, and had evidently seen much 
use and several washings. Her only ornament was 
a small, old-fashioned brooch, containing a lock of 
gray hair, and confining a plain linen collar about 
the round, smooth throat. She sat upon a high stool 
at a desk, with a low railing around the top, set 
within a recess of the wall midway between the front 
door of the fashionable fancy store and the great 
mirror at the farther end. 

“What is it? ” she asked, briefly. 

“ Take twenty-six fifty out of that ! ” answered the 
saleswoman who had interrupted her, tendering two 
bank-notes. 

The book-keeper inspected one more closely than 
she did the other. 

■ “ That $20 is a counterfeit 1 ’’ she pronounced in 
her abrupt fashion. 

“ Are you sure ? ” 

“ If I were not, I should not make the assertion. 
It is a counterfeit — and a poor one. Take it back 
to the person who ofiered it, and say so.” 

The other hung back. 

“ I don’t like to ! ” she objected, in a lower tone. 



f 


9 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 

shall offend her mortal! v, if I do. She is very 
rich and fashionable, and there is a gentleman with 
her. I can’t tell her she has given me a bad note.” 

“You take the responsibility of exchanging it, 
then ? ” pulling open the money-drawer, as she said it. 

“Don’t be a fool, Phemie Rowland! I have not 
twenty dollars in the world.” 

“ Get Mr. Arnold to break the news you are afraid 
to carry, if the customer is so valuable,” suggested 
Phemie, impatiently. “ I haven’t time to waste in 
discussing the matter.” 

“He isn’t in, and he would send me off with a flea 
in my ear, if I were to go to him with such a request.” 

“Stay here by my desk, then, and I will settle the 
difficulty 1 ” starting up, with the air of one whose 
forbearance was waxing low. “ Where is your rich 
and fashionable sensitive plant ? ” 

“ That is she 1 in the cashmere shawl and blue 
hat — talking with the tall gentleman by the left- 
hand counter.” 

Phemie Rowland stepped from the dais that held 
her desk and stool, and walked down the aisle be- 
tween the counters, the doubtful bill ‘in her hand. 
Her gait was what might have been expected, after 
a sight of her square face and ripe, resolute mouth 
— firm, but elastic — steady, yet graceful as the mo- 
tion of a royal yacht through calm water. The gen- 
tleman conversing with the lady-customer had seen 
her, in the full glare of the central skylight, as she 
descended from the platform, and watched her ap- 
proach, his eye and smile so abstracted from the 


10 PREMISS TEMPTATION. 

subject of which his companion was speaking, that 
she would have turned to s*ee what had diverted his 
notice from her, had he not interrupted her to say in 
a hasty “ aside ” — 

' Look at this young lady as she passes us ! She. is 
superb ! ” 

Looking around in ready and piqued curiosity, his 
fair friend met the cashier face to face, with a start 
and blush he mistook for confusion at seeing the ob- 
ject of remark so near them, but which Phemie 
^knew was unwilling’, recognition. Her eyes were as 
. quick, her memory as faithful when the features un- 
der the blue bonnet were revealed to her view, her 
self-command more perfect. She accosted the lady 
with grave civility. 

beg your pardon — but did you not buy three 
and a half yards of Yalenciennes lace just now, for 
twenty-six dollars fifty cents, and offer two notes — a 
$10 and a $20, in payment? ” 

' ‘‘ I did ! ” haughtily. 

“ I regret to say that this note is a counterfeit ! ” 
continued Phemie, involuntarily imitating the other’s 
manner. ‘Ht was brought to me, and I, as the cash- 
ier and book-keeper of the establishment, declined to 
receive it.” 

The customer crimsoned furiously to the roots of 
her blonde frizettes. - 

“ There is some mistake ! ” she protested, yet 
more loftily. ‘‘ I had the bill, not ten minutes since, 
from the cashier at Wylie’s. His judgment is surely 
worth as much as yours.” 


11 


PHEMIBPS TEMPTATION. 


‘‘I am accountable to Mr. Arnold for my action 
in these matters,” was the answer. If the bill is 
good, the cashier at Wylie’s will certainly give you 
another for it, if you insist upon it. If I am right 
and he is wrong, you can compel him to do this.” 

“Allow me,” said the cavalier in attendance upon 
the irate customer, touching his hat, as he took the 
note from Miss Rowland’s hand. “ I am a tolerably 
critic of currency. And while I examine this, please 
give me your opinion of that ! ” presenting a bill for 
the same amount as that he had received. 

“It is- a good one!” Phemie decided, with none 
of the pretty airs other girls of her class would have 
been likely to put on in conversation with a young, 
handsome, and affable gentleman. 

“Oblige me, then, by accepting it as a substitute 
for this apple of discord 1 ” he said, bowing to both 
ladies, as he put the condemned bill into his wallet 
and snapped to the clasp. 

His companion began a low protest, or what 
Phemie judged to be such from the accent, as the 
cashier moved away ; l;)ut th^.ji’elief expressed in her 
countenance was not to be'"^ mistaken, and wrought 
in the minds of the lool0j^-on the conviction that 
her dilemma would have' been serious, but for the 
gallant intervention oPher escort; that she had not 
the means of paying for the lace whicji had been 
cut off*, if the bill she had^.offered were^ rejected. It 
was an embarrassing position, and Phemie had the 
magnanimity tq^pity her, as she reflected upon it ; 
to wish that she 'could have spared her the mortifica- 


12 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 

t 

tion, or made it less public. She despatched the 
change due the purchaser by Lucy Harris, the girl 
who had sold the lace, and plunged anew into the 
column of figures. 

“You have offended Miss Mallory, Phemie! ” the 
saleswoman was so ungrateful as to remark by and 
by, in passing. ‘‘ She was as red in the face as a 
boiled lobster, and her eyes snapped like a pair of 
percussion caps when I handed her the change and 
told her how sorry I was she had been troubled about 
the note, but that you had the name of being over- 
particular in such matters. ‘I shall be careful not 
to subject myself to the chance of similar annoyances 
in future,’ she remarked, meaning, of course, that 
she would steer clear of the store after this.” 

Phemie made no reply. Her pen was slowly tra- 
versing the length of the page, at an elevation of 
a quarter of an inch above the paper, her eyes fol- 
lowing the course of the nib, as if it were the index 
of a patent computer. 

‘‘ Mr. Arnold will be mad as a March hare, if the 
affair gets to his ears,”* persisted the intruder, who 
seemed to be affluent in comparisons. “ I had rather 
be in my place than yours, when he comes to inquire 
about it.” 

The same silence and apparent deafness on the 
part of the person attacked; but Lucy was not 
easily rebuffed. 

“I don’t wonder she was fretted!” hitching her- 
self on to the corner of the railing by one elbow and 
fumbling with the pen-rack, in an irritating style 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


13 


that made Phemie tighten her fingers upon page and 
pen. “I shouldn’t relish being taken to task for 
passing bad money when my beau was by.” 

Here, to the listener’s great relief, she had to ob^ 
a call ‘‘forward,” but not without an audible muttS 
relative to “ people who held themselves so almighty 
high and stiff! ” 

Phemie pinned her thoughts, with her eyes, down 
to the routine of her appointed labor, through all 
the winter afternoon. If she were more taciturn 
and unsmiling than usual, nobody noticed it. She 
was never merry or conversational in business hours. 
The frivolous gossips of the clerical sisterhood em- 
ployed by Arnold A Co. were not tempted to hang 
about her desk on dull days, or during spare minutes 
on busy ones. She lived as essentially apart from 
them as if her sex and employment had not been 
the same as theirs. “An automaton in Hankeen!” 
they called her, in derisive^allusion to the material 
of her every-day garb, and they had an uncomfortable 
and very positive impression that she despised them 
rather more than they could her. Her fitness for 
her post was incontrovertible. She had gained it 
over the heads of a crowd of other applicants, and 
discharged the Inanifold and onerous duties pertain- 
ing: to it with industry and exactness that were 
absolutely unimpeachable. She wrote a rapid, legible 
hand, computed with swift correctness, was ever 
self-possessed and on the alei’t for the interests of 
her employer, and never squandered a second ot 
the time he had bought, upon the pursuits to which 


14 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


the other young ladies” were, without an exception, 
addicted. 'No surreptitious novel, or e<^a]lj con- 
traband needlework ever nestled in her drawer or 
gPpcket, to be produced when the overlooker’s back 
Was turned, and only such regards were upon the 
delinquent as were hoodwinked by the kindness of a 
fellow-feeling. She never munched bon-bons, or 
nibbled slyly at sandwiches at unlawful seasons ; 
was never flurried, or pert, or insolent. 

“In short ’’--Mr. Arnold had been heard by jealous 
eaves-droppers to. declare, in humble and loyal imi- 
tation of theflieSs^of pertain great departments of 
a certain magmflcent«^qvernment, whose employ 
ment of wornfc^ a,|3’clerks is an honor to their 
economical ii^nc^ if not to their hearts — “she 
does her wo$k a^^ell — if not better than any man 
I could engage |br double what I pay her. If she 
has a femmine "foible, I don’t know it. There should 
be more avenues of honorable labor opened to wo- 
men, sir, and I am doing my best as a — ah — sort of 
pioneer in this respect.” 

Phemie had been very busy through all this day. 
The weather had been flue in the forenoon, and the 
store was thronged un1<l near sunset. She was the 
last to quit the place| with the exceptioi^ of the 
porter, who eyed her f ourly, as she bent over her 
ledger when the r4V had hurried on cloaks and 
hoods, with an immense deal of cackling, and gig- 
gling, and loud talking, and departed to their homes 
and suppers. 

“Most through?” he said, breaking into a tedious 


PHEMm8 TEMPTATION. 


15 


calcnlation that had engrossed her for ten minutes, 
and \vhick,must be recommenced, if she gave him a 
thought at this juncture. 

She did not reply until she had written the tot 
at the foot of the page: ‘^Give me a moment mor. 
please, James! Or, if you will leave the keys with 
me, I will see that everything is locked up, and 
deliver them at your house on my way home.” 

The man growled, dissentingly. “On your \vay- 
home! You’ll have to go six blocks out of your way 
to leave ’em ! It’s too late and dark for young girls 
to be gadding about the streets alone, at any rate. 
The devil’s around like a roaring lion at night more 
than at any other time. If you were my child, you 
should be in by sundown.” 

“Necessity knows no law, James!” with a smile, 
at once amused and sad ; “ I thank you, though! ” 

She did not say for what. Only, when her task 
was accomplished — her cloak, a sacque of rough 
cloth, like a man’s dreadnaught, buttoned across her 
bust, and her gray beaver hat tied under her cleft 
chin — she spoke again, and in a milder voice. 

“You w^ere kind to wait upon me — very prudent 
to advise me to go home earlier. You are a good 
father, I. am sure, and your daughters must love you 
dearly. Good-night ! ” 

“ Half-past seven ! ” she said to herself, glancing 
into a watchmaker’s window. “ I am behind time. 
It is going to rain, too ! ” 

Until seven o’clock of the next morning her time 
was her own— she belonged to herself. The first use 


16 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


slie made of her liberty was to tliink and to say, half 

1 -1 -» *- 1-1 . 1 1 1 j 1 i 

a 



vate weaknesses that would clog thought and retard 
action in Mr. Arnold’s behalf. But she had it out 
with these and Memory, in her two-mile walk 
through the damp, chilly streets. 


^ Clara Mallory had been her desk-mate at Madame 
Tourbillon’s seminary ; the most intimate associate 
of her out-of-school hours, five years ago. Mr. Bow- 
land, if less wealthy, even then, than Clara’s father, 
occupied a higher position in society by virtue of his 
superior education and refinement, and lived in equal 
style. His daughters’ dresses at home and at school 
were as expensive as Clara’s, and in far better taste, 
while their advanced grade of scholarship gave them 
precedence of Miss Mallory with teachers and pupils, 
as did their breeding and personal advantages in the 
world outside the schoolroom. Euphemia Bowland, 
in the pride of her budding beauty and acknowledg- 
ed talents, might have selected a more brilliant and 
appreciative friend than the merely pretty and lively 
girl whom she elevated to the place of confidante, 
but this her generous affection forbade her to do. 
She learned to love Clara because they lived near 
one another, and shared the same form during lesson 
hours; because, being impulsive and warm-hearted, 
she must love somebody, and could not live unless 
she were beloved in return, and Clara’s professions 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


17 


of boundless attachment allayed the latter craving. 
They had, no secrets, therefore, that were not com- 
mon property, and exchanged keepsakes as freely, 
if not as frequently, as they did thoughts, and lived 
on in happy, loving carelessness of sorrow or change, 
until both overtook Phemie, and swept her, with the 
rush of an avalanche, out of sight and ken of the 
prosperous Mallorys. 


Mr. Rowland died suddenly, leaving his worldly 
affairs in a terribly involved condition. After a deal 
of trouble on the part of the executors, the state of 
these was communicated to the family. They were 
penniless ; worse than that ; for the entire assets of 
the deceased failed to meet his liabilities, and the al- 
tered demeanor of fair-weather friends was justified 
in the popular judgment, and, to a limited extent, in 
that of the bereaved relatives by the fact that others 
beside themselves — many of them creditors who 
could ill bear the loss — were sufferers by their calam- 
ity. The eldest daughter, Emily — a comely, but by 
no means intellectual woman — had married, a few 
months prior to her father’s death, a young and 
prosperous merchant, who, albeit, not inclined by 
nature or habit to acts of disinterested benevolence, 
could not do less than advance the first quarter’s 
rent of a small house in an unfashionable part of the 
city. To this the widow removed, while her weeds 
were yet fresh, with her four unmarried children — 
Charlotte, Euphemia, Olive, and Albert. The eldest 
of these was twenty at the date of their reverses, the 
youngest but ten. Then commenced a struggle for 


18 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


life that merited the name. For a while, the mother 
and daughters took in plain sewing ; stabbed them- 
selves from dawn until midnight with their needles 
to buy food for their mouths ; cheap clothing for 
their backs ; fuel to warm them, and to pay the rent 
of the house that sheltered their fallen hea/ls. I need 
not recapitulate the various stages of the unsuccess-^ 
ful experiment. Nor is it necessary to state that 
they found themselves, at the end of the trial year, 
worse in health and spirits than at the beginning, and 
so backward in pecuniary matters that Mr. Mandell, 
the son-in-law, was compelled to step forward with 
a grudged loan that should square the accounts of 
the past, twelve months, and with a quantity of gra- 
tuitous advice relative to the future. 

He bestirred himself in good earnest, moreover, to 
prevent a recurrence of this disaster. He obtained 
for Charlotte a situation as instructress in the pri- 
mary department of a ward school, in which women 
received most equitable salaries — averaging, all 
around, very nearly half the sum paid to men who 
did the same work, only not quite as well. For 
Phemie, he got a place as teacher of a country dis- 
trict school, and he would have bound the fifteen- 
year-old Olive apprentice to a driving dressmaker, 
but for the obstinate representations of the other sis- 
ters that their mother was too delicate to undertaka 
general housework, and required the assistance, if 
not the company, of one of her daughters. Albert 
went to a public school, clothed partially by Emily 
from her husband’s cast-off garments. The Mandells 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


19 


♦ 

considered that they ‘‘ had done well by their poor 
relations,” and Mrs. Kowland, who was apt to. take 
her cue from her first-born, was lavish of expressions 
of gratitude. That Charlotte and Euphemia did not 
echo these was a symptom of depraved and thankless 
natures over which the exemplary brother-in-law sigh- 
ed privately to his wife — which sighs of a generous 
heart were retailed faithfully by her to the distressed 
parent. 

Phemie was the most grievous thorn in the worthy 
man’s side. ‘‘ She reminds me of the stick that was 
too crooked to lie still ? ” he said, plaintively, to the* 
wife of his bosom. “ There is no such thing as 
managing her. She has altogether too much will 
and too much head for a woman. Her sentiments 
and language border upon incendiarism ! ” 

This objurgation was called forth by her second 
change of avocations after he had established her, 
as he stated the case, ‘‘most respectably.” She re- 
signed the charge of the district school at the end of 
the session, although the trustees expressed them- 
selves as entirely satisfied with her, and requested 
her to stay with them another term. She had dis- 
covered that the salary they gave hei*, being gradu- 
ated by the same equitable scale as fixed her sister 
Charlotte’s, did not equal by one-half that which 
the}^ had paid her predecessor — a very youthful 
Sophomore, in need of funds to enable him to prose- 
cute his studies. Her conduct of the school was 
confessed by all — trustees and patrons — to be superior 
to his. 


*20 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


And if I can do a man’s work, I should have a 
man’s wages ! ” said the ardent and ignorant child. 

This being out of the question — opposed to the 
genius of all masculine institutions — and the leg^l 
institutions of all countries are masculine — she threw 
up the situation and came home. She had husbanded 
every penny of her earnings, and pouring them into 
her mother’s lap in the midst of her pathetic rehash 
of Mr. Man dell’s prophecies of the ills to be expected 
from heir — Phemie’s — ‘‘outrageous and suicidal step” 
— went out to seek for work. 

She found it in less than three days, at a desk in 
the State Treasury Department. She had solicited 
it in person, and the Chief, discovering, in the course 
of conversation, that her father had been an old 
friend of his, ventured upon the innovation of giving 
her the post upon terms that approximated honesty. 
She worked diligently and contentedly under his 
eye for eighteen months, and Mr. Mandell, appre- 
ciative of the lifting of the strain upon his pocket, 
condescended to breathe a hope that “ things might 
eventuate less disastrously than he had feared when 
Euphemia rushed so madly upon a course that was 
positively unprecedented, and which, he still thought, 
was a hazardous venture for a young lady, particu- 
larly one whose personal appearance was so conspi- 
cuous.” Then a new Governor was elected, who 
knew not the chief, nor any of his party, and he 
made clean work in the Treasury Office, from the 
High Secretary down to the boy who swept the floors 
and fed the tires. 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


21 


Pliemie had to march with the rest. She spent 
one afternoon and evening at home, the recipient of 
Charlotte’s sympathy, Olive’s kindly offices in the 
culinary line, and her mother’s lamentations and 
second-hand prognostications. The Man dells look- 
ed in, after tea, the following evening, and were 
astounded to learn that, after a long day’s tramp, 
Pliemie had engaged employment as a saleswoman 
in the store of ‘‘Arnold & Co., Importers and 
Manufacturers of Ladies’ Trimmings, Eibbons, Laces, 
etc.” 

“ The compensation is pitiful — a dollar a day ! ” 
said Euphemia, the indomitable, sipping the milk 
and eating the stale bkcuit that served her as a sup- 
per, after her protra^ed fast. “ But it is better 
than nothing. I only take the place as a stepping- 
stone to something better.” 

“It will pay the rent,” calculated Mr. Mandell. 
“And Charlotte gets three hundred more. That 
ought to supply your table. You should live quite 
comfortably upon that, with what your mother and 
Olive make by their needlework.” 

“A hundred more at the utmost!” computed 
Pliemie to herself. “Items to be provided out of 
this — fuel’, clothing, lights, and sundries. That will 
never do I I must strike higher 1 ” 

She did, at the end of six months, by applying 
for, and proving her ability to fill the post of book- 
keeper and cashier in Mr. Arnold’s establishment, 
which then chanced to fall vacant. When she en- 
tered upon the duties of her advanced position, at a 


/ 

I 


22 PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 

salary of six hundred dollars a year, Mr. Mandell 
felt himself called upon to offer exceedingly guarded 
congratulations. 

‘‘ You should begin to lay aside something against 
a rainy day — at least, two hundred a year,” he said. 
“ I can help you to some excellent investments for 
small sums. Above all things, don’t let your extraor- 
dinary success betray you into extravagance.” 

The incorrigible spendthrift was thinking, at that 
very minute, in happy deafness^to his prudential 
saws — JSFow^ Lottie shall take cod-liver oil, and 
next vacation a trip to the sea-shore. ]^ow, mother 
shall have flannel vests, and poor, dear Oily, at least 
one new dress ; a serviceable^erino, or all-wool de- 
laine. E’ow, Bertie shall go" to school a year longer. 
I hated the idea of his becoming an errand boy in 
Seth Mandell’s store. He shall have a thorough ed- 
ucation, if I have to spend every dollar upon him 
that I can save from household expenses.” 

But prices took a rise before she had occupied her 
high stool a single quarter, and the end of the year 
brought consternation in the discovery that six hun- 
dred nowadays went no further than four hundred 
used to do. The leaven that had sent everything 
else up with yeasty rapidity had not operated upon 
salaries. These are regarded by Church, State, and 
private corporations as strictly non-inflatable substan- 
ces. When the rest of the universe is buoyant, they 
lie prone and impassive in a state that, as Gail 
Hamilton says of her transplanted beetlings, gives 
to the word flatness ” a new meaning. This is all 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


23 


right, of course, or it wouldn’t be so. Irrational, 
undisciplined Phemie had “incendiary” notions on 
this subject also. I am ashamed to tell it ; but she 
was only deterred from asking Mr. Arnold for an in- 
crease of wages by the earnest entreaties of her sis- 
ters and mother, and the almost tearful protesta- 
tions of Mr. Mandell that she would thereby write 
her own discharge. 

“ And situations are frightfully scarce just now,” 
he added. 

“ That is true ! ” assented Phemie, candidly. 
“ Ah, well ! I won’t let this bird out of my hand until 
I’ have secured his fellows in the bush.” 

These were no nearer^capture now than when she 
made the promise. Prices were still up, and salaries 
still emulated the withered beetlings. There were a 
dozen applications for every vacant situation, and 
Phemie, not being a fool, held fast to her bird in the 
hand, however lean he might grow. 

The struggle for a liYelihood is seldom compatible 
with a fight for a foothold in society. The Kowlands 
had not attempted the feat. They had no time to 
pay visits to the now remote quarter of the cit}^ in 
which they had formerly resided, and it is to be pre- 
sumed that their then acquaintances were troubled 
with a like poverty of the precious commodity, since 
they did not seek them out. When misfortune pricks 
one of the rainbow bubbles that fioat on the whirl- 
pool of fashionable existence, who ever saw the rest 
stop to inquire into, or to bemoan its vanishment? 
Phemie had set all this in array before herself as 


24 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


many times as the recollection of liel^ early intimates 
had crossed her mind. Mr. Mallory had lost money 
by Mr. Kowland’s failure, and being a vindictive 
man, it was to be expected that he should sunder 
Clara from her friend. Phemie had shed her last 
tears over the parting, four years ago. Time had 
blunted this sorrow, as he does all others. But that 
Clara should deliberate!}^ refuse to recognize her, 
should address her as a stranger not of her caste, was 
a surprise, and a severe one. 

“ I could have existed without this lesson in 
human nature ! ” said the girl, in bitter* sarcasm, 
trudging along in the rain that began to fall before 
half of her journey was accomplished. 

She did not mind bad weather, generally, but the 
effect of this soaking mist was singularly dispiriting. 
It sent her thoughts, by some inexplicable associa- 
tion of ideas, back to the bright and sheltered days 
of yore ; the winter evenings, glad with mirth and 
music, and the pleasant converse of the fR’eside; 
when it was easy to obey the injunction, “ Take no 
thought for the morrow,” — the morrow crowned with 
hope, as to-day was with fniition. The solitary 
ring she wore had been a Christmas present from 
Clara on the last holiday they had passed together. 
Miss Mallory must have seen it upon the hand that 
held the disputed bank-note. It was not an ordinary 
pattern ; a garnet heart set heavily in chased gold, 
relieved by lines of black enamel. Phemie plucked 
off her wet glove with the intention of removing 
the gage amour that was such no longer, but 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


25 


changed her purpose, while her fingers were upon 
the circlet. 

“ I will not throw it away ! People in our cir- 
cumstances cannot afibrd to be wasteful ! ' J ’ll give 
it to Bertie, and let him sell it. It will help buy 
the Greek dictionary he is pining for. Where is the 
use of being in trade if one doesn’t learn to be mer- 
cenary? Seth would commend this disposition of a 
school-girl’s keepsake. It is quite in his line. Poor 
old ring ! you have given me some happy moments 
in the past.” 

She kissed it before she re-covered her hand. Her 
brother-in-law might well consider her a queer mix- 
ture.” 

“ If she liad not recollected me, I should not have 
wondered. I have altered very much since we used 
to walk to school, arm-in-arm. My dress is a dis- 
guise in itself. Our smart housemaid of those times 
would have been ashamed to wear one like it when 
she opened the door for the postman. But Clara 
knew me ! I am too familiar with her countenance 
to doubt that. I might add too used to the recep- 
tion of cuts direct, not to understand the features of 
such. She knew me on the instant ; and dreaded 
lest I should proclaim our former acquaintanceship 
before her distingue cavalier. He behaved hand- 
somely ; extricated us from our awkward situation 
very cleverly. So, she is to marry him — ^if Lucy 
Harris’s tattle is worthy of credit. I hope she will 
be happy ! ” 

The vision of a home cosily luxurious; a loving 


26 


PHEMIE'S TEl^TATION. 


husband, who accounted it a pleasure to foresee and 
supply every want of her he had ^vooed and w^on, of 
social pleasures and intellectual repasts, such as the 
wealthy command, and the poor in all but heart and 
brains vainly crave, what was this to the high-souled, 
great-hearted girl, wdio paid by her daily toil for the 
humble abode that barely held her mother’s house- 
hold ; Tvho had never had a lover whose mental 
qualifications she did not despise, and whose person 
was not disagreeable to her ; w^hose friends could be 
told upon the fingers of one hand, and whose one 
“ evening out ” during the present season had been 
spent in hearing a scientific lecture from an eminent 
scholar and orator — a treat for which she paid a 
dollar, and went gloveless to church ^r a month 
afterward lest her conscience should accuse her of 
selfish extravagance ? 

She met the contrast, vividly outlined by imagina- 
tion, betw^een her situation and that of her whilom 
confidante, with a brave show of the dauntless spirit 
which was her characteristic. 

‘‘ISTever mind! My turn will come, I dare say. 
If I do feel, occasionally, as did the poor fellow wdio 
called out, when the ballad-singer w^as trollins: 
‘ There’s a good time coming, boys,’ — ‘ I say, mister, 
you couldn’t name the day, could you ? ’ — the fault 
is in my courage or faith — maybe in both. I find 
this state of intense humidity unfavorable to the de- 
velopment of these. Home at last ! and lights in the 
parlor. An invasion of relatives, I fear 1 ” 

She. entered the lower door, and groped her vray 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


27 


through a small, dark hall into the front basement, 
which served the double purpose of kitchen and 
dining-room. The only other apartment on this 
floor was a’’ mere closet in the rear, nsed as a pantry. 
The furniture was plain and scanty ; the one kero- 
sene lamp lighted the place indifterently, but the 
small grate of the cooking-stove was warm and 
glowing. Phemie knelt upon the floor before it, 
and held her benumbed fingers close to the hot 
bars. 

“ I’m a dripping glacier, Olive ! ” she said, to her 
younger sister, when she oflfered to unfasten her hat 
and cloak. “ My toggery would have been spoiled, 
if it could have been injured at all. As it is, it will 
look as well fo-morrow as it has done for these two 
years past.” 

“You should have taken an umbrella, this morn- 
ing, as I begged you to do,” rejoined Olive, an 
apple-cheeked, round-eyed maiden of twenty, wiping 
the felt hat dry with a soft cloth. 

“Take care! you’ll rub the nap oftl” cautioned 
Phemie, comically. “ That would be an irreparable 
injury. I cannot endure an umbrella; I prefer a 
thorough wetting any day to the trouble of carrying 
one of the lumbering nuisances. And nothing shall 
induce me to burden myself with it when it only 
threatens to storm. The most ludicrously pitiable 
object I meet in my walks abroad is the man or 
woman who lugs about, in unexpected sunshine, a 
whalebone and gingham incumbrance that stamps 
him or her as a cowardly false prophet.” 


28 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


“That does well enough for you to say,” said 
Olive. “ But the real reason why you don’t carry an 
umbrella is that you leave one for Charlotte, because 
she is delicate ; one for mother or me, because we 
must go to market ; one for Bertie, lest he should 
catch a wetting and a sore throat, and there is none 
left for you. You should buy one for ycw.ir own use, 
Phernie. I said so to Charlotte, to-night, when it 
began to rain. It is wrong to expose yourself as you 
do. Your life and health are worth too much to be 
risked so thoughtlessly.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” said Phernie, good-humoredly, get- 
ting up from the floor. “Half the illness in the 
world is brought on by over-caution. You have 
kept my supper warm for me, I see. That was kind 
in you. 1 am quite ready for it, I can assure you.” 

It was frugal as an anchorite’s fare — three baked 
potatoes, a glass of milk, a half loaf of brown bread 
and a slice of butter. 

“ It looks so dry ! ” mourned Olive, setting it upon 
the table. “ There was nothing I could keep warm 
except the potatoes. I wish you would eat meat 
once a day, Phernie ! You work so hard ! ” 

“ I eat what suits me best, you carnivorous little 
animal! that which renews the tissues and supplies 
phosphates.” 

“ Meat is nourishing, isn’t it ? ” queried common- 
place Olive. 

“ To disease — yes 1 I don’t seek to convert you. 
Oily. So long as you tolerate my eccentricities, I 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


29 


am content — or should be. Who is upstairs ? ” as a 
louder hum of voices penetrated the ceiling. 

“ Seth and Emily, and ” — with perceptible hesita- 
tion — “ Joe Bonney.” 

“ Interesting ! ” 

“ I wish you would tell me one thing, Phemie,” 
said Olive, still hesitating, with a wistful look upon 
her rosy face and in her round eyes. 

“ I will, if I can, Oily — as many things as you 
want to know.’’ 

“Why do you dislike Joe Bonney? He fairly 
adores you.” 

“ You have answered your own question — par- 
tially. He persists in letting everybody see that he 
adores me in his lumpish way, until the sight of him 
is a rank offence to my visual organs. An hour of 
his society is a phase of spiritual mortification tiiat 
should atone for a multitude of sins.” 

“ That’s what I can’t understand ! ” continued 
practical and puzzled Olive. “ He is rather good- 
looking, and has one of the kindest hearts in the 
world. His principles are excellent ; he is doing 
well in his business, and he is sensible enough. I 
am often amazed at remarks he makes when you are 
not by. You overawe him, somehow.” 

“ I have no doubt he is very well in his vvay, but 
his way doesn’t happen to be mine,” returned Phe- 
mie. “He is narrow-minded, weak and obtuse. I 
am the more inclined to think well of him from your 
advocacy of him than from any merit I have ever 
discovered in the sapient youth. There is one 


30 


PEEMIE^^ TEMPTATION. 


deplorable counterpoise to this, however. He is 
Seth Mandell’s cousin, and enjoys the esteem of our 
incomparable brother-in-law. Furthermore, Seth 
and Emily mean that I shall marry him. Finally, 
my dear sister, I don’t mean to do it ! ” 

Olive would have appealed from this decision but 
for the entrance of their mother. She was a fragile 
woman, who had been pretty, and who could never 
look otherwise than ladylike. Her manner was un- 
decided, at times deprecating, always more or less 
martyrlike. One would as soon havfe hunted for 
eaglets in a dove’s nest as imagined that she was 
Phemie’s parent. 

“ I am relieved that you are at home, my child ! ” 
she said, when she had kissed Phemie, mournfully. 
“ I have been sadly anxious about you. It is really 
imprudent for you to be out so late without an escort. 
Mr. Bonney has been very restless ever since he 
came and heard tliat you were not in. He would 
have gone to meet you, but Charlotte was certain he 
would miss you on the way. My advice was that he 
should make the attempt, but Charlotte is very head- 
strong, and he preferred to obey her. How, dear, 
you must change your dress right away, and come up 
to our friends. A little lively company will cheer you 
up. It grieves me that you will be such a recluse.” 

Is it really essential that I should make an elab- 
orate toilet, mother? I thought this irreproachable. 
My dress is quite dry now, and my collar is clean, 
isn’t it?” 

“They are barel}^ admissible for the morning — 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


31 


utterly unsuitable for evening wear,” said Mrs. Row- 
land, firmly. Like a majority of weak women, she 
prided herself upon “ taking a stand.” 

“Which shall it be?” asked Phemie, resignedly, 
lighting a candle. “ The purple velvet, or the crim- 
son satin ? ” 

“ I have nothing to say when you employ that tone 
toward me, Euphemia ! ” The stand was taken very 
strongly. “If you can reconcile it with your sense 
of the duty and respect you owe me and our friends 
to scoff at my suggestions, and absent yourself from 
their society, whenever the whim seizes you, I am 
dumb. But I should have hoped that the recollection 
that I am your mother, and what are your obligations 
to jmur brother-in-law and your sister might have 
some weight. I have been long aware, however, that 
my ideas are obsolete according to your code. I am 
behind the age in which you live, and — excuse me 
for saying that I do not regret this.” 

“You may notice it when you will” — Mrs. Row- 
land had boasted rej^eatedly to her other daughters 
— “ strong as Euphemia’s will is, she invariably gives 
way when I assert my authority. Your poor father 
did just the same.” 

The present instance bore her out in the declaration 
that she could master the stubborn spirit of her third 
daughter. 

“I shall be in the parlor- in a few minutes, 
mother,” she observed, quietly. She looked back 
over her shoulder, in quitting the room, to inquire, 
“Where is Bertie, Olive? ” 


32 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION, 


“ Miss Darcy took him with her to her night-class. 
He is to act as monitor, or something of the sort.” 

Phemie’s eyes sparkled. “ Miss Darcy is more than 
kind ! The time will come when we shall he very 
proud of our brother, Olive ! ” • 



CHAPTEK II. 


f F Phemie’s eyes had brightened at Miss 
Darcy’s name, Mr. Mandell’s had grown 
severe, when he heard it mentioned. His 
were not expressive eyes as a usual thing, 
being slaty-gray in hue, and protuberant in 
shape, although small; very like in color, size, and 
general appearance, to a couple of new and cheap 
marbles — not the more choice agate and porcelain 
“ alley taws.” 

Emilj^ Howland was reckoned by her mother and 
the wise ones of her acquaintance, to have done well 
in her marriage. She certainly had not been led 
into the connection by the desire of the eye. Her 
Seth was tall and angular ; sallow in complexion ; 
with high shoulders and cheek-bones, and joints 
that played too loosely for grace when he moved or 
walked. Business was the chief idea of his life; 
common sense was his foible. Whatever Nsid not 
subserve the interests of the lirst and tally with the 
i-rqiiirements of the latter, was swept into the uncon- 
sidered background of stuff and folly.” The world 
is overstocked with these zealous scavengers, who 


34 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


descry mould and rot in everything that is not brick, 
stone, or metal. 

“ Miss Darcy has taken to patronizing Albert, too, 
has she?” he said, when Mrs. Kowland accounted 
for the boy’s absence from the family group, as Olive 
had done to her sister. I had hoped she would 
expend her energies in that line upon Euphemia. It 
is not my province to interfere in your domestic 
arrangements, Mrs. Rowland, but you will excuse 
me for doubting the beneficial etfects of this strong- 
minded w'oman’s infiuence over either of your chil- 
dren. She is a fanatical radical. Perhaps you may 
not be aw^are that she advocates the equality of the 
sexes. That is her latest crotchet.” 

I lament Euphemia’s intimacy with her as much 
as you can, Seth,” sighed the mother. “ It can lead 
to no good end. But I cannot hinder it.” 

Miss Darcy has been very kind to Phemie — to 
us all ! ” 

Charlotte broke ofi* her conversation with Joe Bon- 
ney, who Avas straining his ears to catch some portion 
of the talk betAveen his cousin and the lady of the 
house, the sound of Euphemia’s name leaving reach- 
ed them across the room. The eldest single sister 
Avas a woman of twenty-five, of sickly aspect, Avho 
might easily have been mistaken for thirty. Two 
years in the harness of a ward school had robbed her 
of good looks and spirits. She was a paid drudge in 
the vineyard of tender minds and young ideas, and 
had no hope of ever being anything more. Being 
conscientious, she did lier utmost to satisfy her em- 


PIIEMIE'S TEMPTATION'. 


plojers. Not being ambitious, she did as she was 
told ; walked meekly in the treadmill, living by the 
day in a round where one day was like all the rest — 
in term time. Being only flesh and blood, and that 
not of the stoutest quality, she broke down in health 
with unfailing regularity by the beginning of every 
vacation, and ^vas good for nothing for two months. 
Being a woman, she must have an object of worship, 
and she made an idol of Euphemia. Therefore, it 
was her gentle voice that interrupted her mother in 
defence of Phemie’s friend. 

‘‘ I shall never forget her goodness to me, last sum- 
mer,” she continued. ‘‘ I think I should have died, 
had she not taken me with her to her native place — 
one of the nicest old-fashioned farm-houses in the 
world — and kept me there four weeks. She would 
have preferred Phemie as a companion, I know, but 
she never intimated as much to me by word or look.” 

I’ll guarantee you were a less profitable boarder, 
even in the country, than Euphemia would have 
been,” said Seth, with the wooden chuckle that was 
his nearest approach to a laugh. Her keep would 
have cost next to nothing where milk, apple-sauce, 
vegetables, brown bread and buttei* are plenty, as they 

are on a farm.” i 

% 

“I wasn’t a boarder!” replied Charlotte, flushing 
slightly. I was Miss Darcy’s guest, and she was 
her brother’s. They all loved her dearly at the 
homestead. They could not help it. Miss Darcy is 
always busy helping others and making them happy.” 

She would make me happier if she would dress 


36 .. 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


more like other people,” said Joe Boniiey, lamely 
facetious, whereat his cousins applauded, and Mrs. 
Rowland was encouraged to renew her plaints. 

“ I often say as much to Euphemia, Mr. Bonney. 
Miss Darcy has estimable traits, as we all allow, but 
her peculiarities are really very offensive to a refined 
taste. What a young, and — I may be allowed to say 
in present company — not unattractive girl like our 
dear Euphemia can find in her to admire and imitate, 
I cannot divine. I have always been instructed to 
consider dress a criterion of character. I appeal to 
every person of judgment to know whether a woman 
who wears garments of such material and make as 
Miss Darcy’s, can be supposed to possess a well-regu- 
lated mind.” 

“ She is a fine scholar, and the most interesting 
talker I ever listened to. Ev^erybody acknowledges 
her abilities,” said Charlotte. “ And ’’—suggestively 
at Mr. Bonney — “ whoever would keep in favor wdth 
Phemie had better not find fault with her favorite.” 

Joe was crestfallen. The exultation that had 
warmed him in the consciousness of having said a 
witty thing, sank into abject dread lest Charlotte 
should report his attempt to cast ridicule upon her 
-friend, to her sister. He had not revived when 
Phemie came iii. Her evening toilet was a black 
alpaca, linen collar and cuffs, and a knot of cherry 
ribbon at her throat. Her abundant hair had been 
rebrushed; her cheeks were like nectarines, and her 
eyes were twin-stars. Poor Joe caught a strangling 
breath in the intoxication that straightway overtook 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


37 


him; sheepishness ensuing as an inevitable conse- 
quence. Sh^ould not have looked more queenly in 
the fictitious purple velvet. If Joe could have had 
his way — this was the tenor, not the wording of his 
reverie, as he sat in his corner and watched her — the 
dingy little parlor, with six cane-seat chairs, one 
clumsy sofa, two tables, and the piano — relic of their 
departed state, that made the rest of the furniture 
look poorer and meaner than it would have done in 
its absence — the shabby carpet and muslin window- 
shades — all her unbecoming surroundings should 
know her no more, save as a visitor. 

In place of them she should have a pretty house in 
a pleasant street, two parlors and a dining-room, with 
a hall on the first fioor ; two chambers and a bath- 
room above, with a snug attic bedroom for the 
servant; three marble steps outside the front door, 
cleaned every morning by said servant ; and inside, 
graceful, yet substantial furniture, and no end of 
books. He had pictured it to himself a thousand 
times, together with the two silk, two merino, one 
grenadine, one poplin, and two lawn dresses she 
should have per annum, not to mention delaines and 
calicoes for common wear. He was the junior part- 
ner in a retail dry-goods store, and had opportunities 
of becoming acquainted with woman’s needs in the 
matter of outer garments. The habit he had con- 
tracted of falling into long and deep reveries over 
sheeny amber, or garnet silks, warm brown and 
maroon cashmeres, diaphanous muslins, where clear 
white was relieved by a bunch of golden and green 


38 


PEEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


wheat, or a moss rosebud, or a scarlet geranium, was 
attributable solely to his consuming j^sion for the 
brunette beauty. He had manoeu^ed a whole 
month to discover the number of Phemie’s gloves, 
and sent her, on Yalentine’s-day, which fell on the 
Tuesday preceding this call, a neat box, white and 
gilt, containing six pairs of gloves, selected with a 
judicious eye to her complexion. The gift being 
anonymous, it might or might not be spoken of dur- 
ing his present visit, and this uncertainty added to 
his perturbation. He was in an agony lest she 
should pass over the- incident in disdainful silence, 
in which event he would be morally sure she suspect- 
ed who the donor was, and meant that he should 
comprehend the import of the slight. On the other 
hand, he confessed to himself that he should be ready 
to expire in the torments of bashfulness at the re- 
motest approach on her part to the acknowledgment 
of his generosiU^ An inconsistent, yet altogether 
natural frame of mind, and one Vith which young 
ladies who have timid, but adoring lovers, have fre- 
quently to deal. 

Phemie’s greeting to her married sister was kindly. 
“ There is no harm in Em,” she was wont to say to 
Charlotte, and very little of anything else. She is 
Seth’s echo, and, as such, makes herself disagreeable 
at times ; but Em proper means well enough. Her 
staples of conversation, when she leaves Seth’s lead, 
are slightly tiresome, but innocent. One wearies, 
at the dozenth hearing, of being told how much 
she paid for her last dress, hat, and cloak; how 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


39 


Sethy tumbled dowu stairs before lie was a year 
old, and Mami|^ swallowed a pin last week, and 
how Rowley cB stomach and eye teeth at the 
same time ; but she never guesses this, so no harm is 
done.” 

“ Well, Em ! ” she said, walking first up to her at 
her entrance. 

“ How are you, Phemie? ” answered Mrs. Mandell, 
and the conventional kiss was exchanged — a caress 
gone through with by the younger mainly because 
her mother was by, and would have deplored the 
omission of it. 

Phemie next put four passive fingers into her 
brother-indaw’s hand, that felt like that of a kid 
doll — as non-pulsative and as stiff* in tlie knuckles. 
“ Good-evening, Seth ! ” 

Then she bowed to Mr. Bonney — a curious cour- 
tesy, that carried her further away from, not toward 
liim. She looked civilly bored by the whole opera- 
tion, and Emily remarked upon this by the time she 
was seated in a straight-backed chair, her hands in 
her lap, as well-trained children are taught to bestow 
themselves “ in company.” 

“ You seem to be tired, Phemie ! How happened 
you to be so late getting home? We were afraid 
something had happened.” 

‘‘ Something did happen ! ” In her acute sense of 
the ridiculous, Phemie could not help emphasizing 
the convenient word. “ We have had a busy day in 
the store, and I stayed awhile after the rest had gone 
to straighten up my books.” 


.40 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


‘‘You slioiildn’t let them get crooked,” said the 
oracular Seth. “ Keep ahead of your work. Drive 
it, and it will never drive you. T^se are two capi- 
tal rules — rules that will etfectually do away with 
the necessity of working in over hours. Unless ” — 
as a prudent after-thought— “ you are paid extra for 
so doing. That alters the case entirel3%” 

“Mr. Arnold ought to remunerate you for labor 
done after the store is, closed,” remarked Emily. 

“ That is what I tell her, my love,” said Mrs. 
Rowland, plaintively. “ But Phemie turns a deaf 
ear to my persuasions. I was never conversant with 
business affairs until lately, but my common sense — 
and I believe even my daughters admit that I have 
common sense — assures me that it is unjust for Phe- 
mie to stay in that store, for an hour or more, alone, 
figuring away at Mr. Arnold’s accounts, without re- 
^ceiving some compensation for it. And now, my 
child, you hear that your brother Seth corroborates 
your silly mother’s decision.” 

Seth changed his base. “I wouldn’t advise you 
to demand it,” he said wisely. “ You are fortunate 
in being able to retain your place at all, while so 
many are out of work. Employers have the whip- 
hand in these times. Eh, Joe?” with a comj)lacent 
sense of not being an employe. 

“ That’s so ! ” responded Joe, reddening to the roots 
of his sandy hair, his sheepishness and the effort to 
conceal it giving a swaggering stress to his affirma- 
tion he never intended should distinguish it. 

Phemie looked at him fixedly for perhaps thirty 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


41 


seconds, during wLicli purgatorial infliction his skin 
passed from the shade of a blush to that of a cabbage- 
rose, and his bofiy fingers intertwisted like straggling 
grape-vines. If he had read Mrs. Partington’s say- 
ings, he 'would have recalled, and appreciated to the 
full, her dolorously comic lament that she “never 
opened her mouth without putting her foot into it.” 
He had said something awkward, maybe wrong; at 
all events, something that did not accord with his 
divinity’s ideas of the correct and gentlemanly. He 
had a horrible impression that she had reckoned him 
up and written a deficit at the bottom of the column, 
when she quietly withdrew her lamping eyes from 
him, and rested them upon her demure hands, with- 
out answer to any of the four observations last 
recorded. 

“ She has such a way of finishing a fellow up ! ” 
Joe had said, the previous Sunday evening, to his 
cousin-in-law Emily, who played the part of mother- 
confessor to \\\^ penchant for her sister. “ She puts 
me ofi* without saying a word — well, a hundred mil- 
lion miles is a circumstance to the gulf her eyes dig 
between us.” He mentally multiplied the distance 
by ten, after the above luckless speech and her grave 
survey of him. Emily saw his embarrassment, igno- 
rant of what had caused it. She was one of the 
tactless people who are forever “ doing their best ” 
to rectify mistakes and set uncomfortable people at 
their ease. 

“ Mamie sent her love to you, Phemie,” she has- 
tened to say. “ She and Kowley told me not to 


42 


PHE^IIE'S TEMPTATION. 


forget to tell jou about their valentines. They 
each got one. Did you girls receive any ? ” 

I did not ! ” answered Charlotte, "Carelessly. 

“ Don’t offend us by asking such a question,” 
added Phemie. “ \Yith sensible, grown-up people, 
the custom of sending valentines" has fallen into 
disuse. Yery properly, too — but it does well enough 
for children ! ” 

Some very sensible people keep it up.” Emily 
was not quite put down. 

“ Ah ! ” Phemie smiled, languidly. “ I don’t 
happen to know of any such instances of puerility 
among that class. I thought the practice was con- 
fined entirely to the nursery and the kitchen. I re- 
member well the prevalent features of those ex- 
changed by Patrick and Bridget. I used to ferret 
them out of the dresser-drawers when I was a little 
girl. There were Cupids, and hearts, and roses, 
and altar fires done in red and pink ; and tunics 
and ribbons, and quivers, and forget-me-nots done in 
blue — all plentifully begreased ])y the time they 
fell into my clutches. , These were upon the outer 
page, and upon the inner were transcribed, in very 
ill penmanship and worse spelling, the orthodox: — 

‘‘ ‘ The fourteenth day of February, 

It was my lot for to be merry, 

Lots we cast, and lots we drew, 

Sweet ’ — 

pronounced in the reading, ‘ swate.’ 

‘ Fortune said it must be you,’ ” 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


43 


Emily gave up attempt to win for her client’s 
votive offering the compensation of a pleased or 
grateful word from the recipient, while Joe, in 
alternate hot and chill fits of shivering, would un- 
questionably have disclaimed the deed had it been 
charged upon him. It was evident to Emily that 
her mother had not been apprised of the arrival of 
the gloves, also, that Charlotte had. The signs of 
the times were unpropitious to the success of Joe’s 
suit. Was Phemie an arrant simpleton ? 

“ After the sacrifices Seth and I are willing: to 
make to insure her happiness ! ” meditated Joe’s 
ally, in grieved resentment. 

The pattern pair had arranged the afiair in their 
conjugal conferences, and agreed that it could not 
be done in superior style by the most diplomatic of 
match-makers. Phemie would never have a more 
eligible offer than Joe’s. He was a shrewd man 
of business, industrious, economical, and amiable. 
There was a reasonable chance of his becoming a 
man of wealth in a decade or two. At least, he 
would be a safe and permanent investment, which 
was more than could be said for her clerkship. 
Phemie had some absurd ideas about learned women 
and intellectual affinities, but she would drop them 
when she knew more of the world. She must be 
made to see that she could not look higher socially. 
Men of means and education did not marry girls 
who stood behind counters and cast up accounts for 
a living. If she married Joe, she must take Olive 
to live with her. Then, they would not need to 


44 


PEEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


keep a servant, Olive being strong, capable, and an 
adept in all descriptions of house-work. If Joe 
doubted his ability to maintain both sisters, Olive 
could take in sewing privately, and Pheniie save 
him many a dollar by her skill in writing up books. 
There were always odd jobs of that kind to be had. 
Mrs. Rowland was to come to the Mandells. 

‘‘ She would help me famously about the children 
and with my sewing. I shouldn’t hire a seamstress 
either fall or spring then,” said Emily. 

Albert would board with them and pay for food 
and lodgings by his services in Seth’s store. Char- 
lotte was already earning enough to meet her ex- 
penses in a cheap lodging-house. Could anything 
be more neatly laid out ? 

“ It would be better and safer for me, in the long 
run,” Seth determined. “ They are getting along 
comfortably enough just no^v, but I live in constant 
dread lest they should come back upon my hands. 
I have never approved of their keeping house. 
These joint stock family companies are risky ven- 
tures. If Joe wants Phemie, he must divide the 
burden with me.” 

“ Tjiat is fair, I am sure ! ” acquiesced his wife. 

She was sincere in saying it, and it was hard thaP 
their benevolent designs should be frustrated by the 
insubordinate Phemie. 

I should like to know what she will dp with the 
gloves,” thought the thrifty woman. They are 
too large for Charlotte and too small for Olive. She 
can’t give them to her sisters, and if she wears them, 


PEEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 45 

she encourages Joe. I shall watch to see how she 
will get out of the scrape.” 

Phemie had disposed of the matter bj tucking the 
box of gloves into a drawer she seldom used, with a 
vehement, asseveration that she would never look at 
them with a thought of using them. She had recog- 
nized Joe Bonney’s handwriting in the superscrip- 
tion upon the wrapper, and resented the loverly 
attention. 

‘‘I am poor, but not mean enough to accept a 
pin’s worth of wearing-apparel from a man whom I 
would not marry to save myself from the alms- 
house!” she said to Charlotte, who had met the 
bearer of the valentine at the door, and taken the 
box directed to her sister. “He noticed my un- 
gloved hands the cold Sabbath he walked with us 
from church. I saw him look at them when I un- 
wrapped my shawl from about them, that I might 
take out my pass-key. This is his delicate manner 
of expressing his appreciation of my inability to buy 
a new pair. His next essay will be a silk hat and 
feathers, or a pair of new shoes. My Balmoral boots 
are getting shockingly shabby at the toes.” 

Her self-respect was stung smartly. Had modest, 
doting J oe slapped her in the fsxce, the insult would 
not have seemed more dire. It was, as she inter- 
preted it, the initial step to the purchase she saw 
was determined upon by the Mandells and their 
kinsman; a transaction akin to the custom of pay- 
ing down a small sum as soon as a bargain is con- 
cluded upon, to clench the contract. She had rubbed 


46 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


against some sharp angles in life since her nineteenth 
year, but the friction had stimulated, not chastened 
her. Too proud to be vain, she had yet a fair esti- 
mate of her mental powers and her personal advan- 
tages. Experience had taught her independence of 
will and energy in action, and rather, more confi- 
dence in herself than would have beseemed one who 
had not proved her armor. She looked down upon 
her suitor as the eaglet, referred to some pages back, 
would upon a barn-yard cockerel, and I am not pre- 
pared to say that she erred in this, even taking into 
account the circumstance that his was the lordlier 
sex. 

Seth, irritated at what he inwardly condemned as 
‘‘ ungrateful effrontery,” yet dubious as to the expe- 
diency of pushing further in a direction in wdiicli his 
wife had been signally routed, tried another mode 
of annoying Phemie — punishing her, as he called it. 

‘‘What is the nature of the entertainment to which 
your friend. Miss Darcy, has invited Albert?” he 
asked. “ He is young to attend evening parties.” 

“ I was not at home when the invitation arrived,” 
answered Phemie, indifferently. “ Charlotte can tell 
you more about the matter than I can.” 

Charlotte, whose sweet temper was proof even 
against Seth’s worrying inquiries and officious pro- 
tection, explained readily and patiently that Miss 
Darcy, with some other philanthropic persons — both 
ladies and gentlemen — had established an evening 
class of young people, chiefly members of the senior 
classes and graduates of the public schools, who de- 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 47 

f ' 

sired more extensive information upon certain scien- 
tific subjects than they could obtain at these institu- 
tions. A large room had been hired and fitted up 
with seats for the pupils and a platform for the lec- 
turer, and in this there were delivered, three times a 
week, familiar discourses upon Astronomy, Geology, 
Natural Philosophy and Chemistry, illustrated by 
diagrams and experiments. 

“Albert has been studying chemistry with Miss 
Darcy and Phemie for more than a year,” said the 
proud sister, “ and has made such progress that Miss 
Darcy called for him this evening to act as her as- 
sistant in the experiments that are to illustrate her 
lesson.” 

The last word Tvas judiciously chosen, but it did 
not divert Seth from the scent of a fresh abomination 
to nostrils refined after the pattern of his forefathers. 

“ You don’t mean to say that she teaches the motley 
crowd of males and females herself — makes a speech 
from the platform ? ” 

“ She teaches the class when her night comes 
around,” was Charlotte’s amendment, uttered rather 
nervously. 

“ Are there other females who do the same ? ” 

“Most of the lecturers are gentlemen, I believe. 
Few women are competent to give instruction on 
the topics which are chosen on these occasions.” 

“I am glad to hear it — very glad!” ejaculated 
Seth, thrusting one hand into his breeches pocket 
and stretching his legs very far out on the carpet, 
leaving a triangular space between his spine and the 


48 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


back and seat of his chair, in which a good-sized 
ptllow could have been inserted. 

This was his oratorical attitude, and Phemie’s 
fingers pinched one another very tightly in anticipa- 
tion of a harangue. 

It is a comfort to learn,” he pursued, “ that the 
females of America are still true to theii* sex ; still 
cherish some symptoms of virtuous modesty; still 
cultivate domestic habits and principles, and shrink 
from public life ; from scenes in which their morals 
must be corrupted, their manners masculinized 

The latter result woidd be a degradation ! ” in- 
terpolated Phemie, with a politely-suppressed yawn. 
“ That is, if your reference is to the human species. 
You did not state expressly what kind of males and 
females you were talking about. The terms are 
very indefinite. As to Miss Darcy, she can take care 
of herself — and she does it.” 

Come ! come ! ” said Emily, alarmed lest Joe 
should be frightened from the chase by the gamey ” 
propensities of his quarry, and aware that Seth 
would come off second-best in a wordy war. Not 
that he did not carry the heaviest guns, but Phemie 
was so quick and audacious ! 

“ You two are always sparring ! ” she said, lightly. 

Suppose you talk of something more interesting to 
the rest of us than Miss Darcy and her pranks.” 

“She doesn’t play pranks, and you could hardly 
find a theme more interesting to me than the story 
of her brave and good deeds,” returned Phemie. 
“ But I don’t want to talk about her just now.” 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


49 


The words were on her lips when the door-bell 
rang violently once, and yet again, before Olive could 
ascend the basement steps. Seth answered the 
peremptory summons, Olive halting at the other end 
of the passage, and Mrs. Howland following her son- 
in-law to the threshold of the parlor to discover the 
cause of the commotion. 

Two gentlemen were there, supporting between 
them a lad whose face was bloody and besmirched 
with soot or smoke, a white handherchief binding 
his eyes, while behind them on the porch, before 
them when they entered the hall, pressed a figure 
well known to the terrified family. 

‘‘ It was an accident, Mrs. Rowland — an explosion 
— and he had just bent over the vessel to make 
sure all was right. His face is scorched — that is all. 
He bears it like a hero. I brought a doctor along. 
I knew you would wish it,’’ said Miss Darcy, in less 
time than any other woman could have said the same 
number of words, yet without bustle or apparent agita- 
tion. If you will be so kind as to clear the room, 
friends, it will be better for him,” she continued, 
ushering the gentlemen and their charge into the 
parlor. ‘‘ Ho, my dear lady ! ” when Mrs. Rowland 
would have rushed toward her son with hysterical 
effusion. “That is the worst thing you could do. 
Olive ! Charlotte ! take care of your mother ! Euphe- 
mia ! I want you ! ” 

She rid the room of useless attendants by a sweep- 
ing gesture of her resolute arm, before which Joe, 
Seth, and Emily vanished as though they had not 
3 


60 


PEEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


been, and shut the door. Albert was laid upon the 
sofa. He had not groaned or spoken since his arri- 
val at home, until the surgeon removed the handker- 
chief from his eyes. Then, an exclamation escaped 
him, so fraught with pain that his sister trembled 
violently as she stood at his head. 

“Be a woman, Phemie!” ordered her friend, 
tersely. “ You were the first person he thought 
of.” 

The gentleman who li^d withdrawn to the rear of 
the group about the sofa, eyed the girl curiously at 
this speech. She controlled herself marvellously, 
even to the lips that had quivered the instant before, 
but the eyes were dark and dilate, the cheeks ashy, 
when the boy’s groping fingers caught her dress and 
he tried to speak cheerfully. 

“Hever mind, Phemie, darling! I’ll come around 
all right, presently. Stay with me 1 I won’t play 
the baby again 1 ” 

He was a handsome youth of sixteen, very like 
Euphemia in feature, but fairer in complexion, and 
difiering likewise from her in the slenderness and 
fragility which had resulted from his rapid growth. 
His forehead was burned, but not deeply; the lower 
part of his face was begrimed with smoke ; there 
was a cut in his cheek from which the doctor extract- 
ed a piece of glass — slight injuries all, that hardly 
required surgical care. The eyes had sufiered most. 
The lashes were scorched olf; the lids, puffed and 
raw, shrank from the light pressure of the fingers 
that yet forced them open. 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


61 


‘‘ It . must be done, my boy ! ” accompanied the 
act. 

The lad clung to his sister’s hand while the exam- 
ination went on, mute and unresisting, but the force 
of the grasp w’-as an index to her of what he w^as en- 
during ; her varying color and strained gaze upon 
the surgeon’s movements proof to the two lookers-on 
of her knowledge of and sympathy with his anguish. 
The work was quickly done ; cooling fomentations 
and more skilfully-adjusted bandages applied to the 
wounded parts, and the doctor was ready to depart. 

Careless or forgetful of the presence of others, 
Phemie knelt beside the couch as the surgeon left it, 
slipping her arm under the pillow, as Albert drew 
her face down to his. 

“Dear old girl!” he said caressingly. “The 
thing I liked my eyes best for was that they were 
like yours. Tliey don’t look much like them now 1 ” 

“ They will be bright as ever soon ! ” she comforted 
him and herself by saying, stroking his unwounded 
cheek. 

The surgeon, behind her back, telegraphed a 
mournful contradiction .to Miss Darcy and her com- 
panion. He had a minute’s talk with them upon the 
steps as the gentlemen were leaving. Miss Darcy 
meant to stay all night. “ That sister is the main 
support of the family, you say?” he interrogated, 
with unprofessional interest. 

“ She is. She educates this, the only brother, 
also.” 

“ He will have to finish his course at an asylum 


62 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


for the blind, I fear, if he receive any further school- 
ing. There is scarcely a possibility that he will ever 
see again. The sight of one eye has gone — probably 
that of the other.” 







CHAPTEE III. 



WEEK had passed Mnce Albert received 
his hurt. Phemie, coming home a few min- 
utes later than was her custom, found hin;i 
already impatient for her arrival. Intense 
pain and inflammation, and the remedies 
used to lessen these, had changed him greatly in seven 
days. He lay on the bed in his mother’s chamber, 
wrapped in a many-flowered dressing-gown which 
had been Charlotte’s in their opulent days — a Tvad- 
ded silk aftair, used now at such seasons only as who- 
ever chanced to be the invalid of the household lay 
in state, and these were brief periods where each one 
had her living to earn. 

‘Hdow fine we are, to-night!” said Phemie, lay- 
ing her cold fingers upon the scarred forehead, and 
stooping to kiss him. ‘‘You look like a young 
Bashaw with — let me see how many tails!” pre- 
tending to count the attenuated palm-leaves curling 
over .the fabric, like lean caterpillars intent upon 
biting their own spines. 

The boy’s wan visage brightened momentarily 


/ 


54 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


into a laugh, but subsided quickly into the sad wist- 
fulness it was beginning to wear habitually — a look 
it cut Phemie’s heart to see. She had noted it many 
times as inseparable from the countenances of the 
blind. 

“ I weary more and more for you, Phemie, dear ! 
The day seems terribly, in supportably long without 
you. Mother and Olive are kindness itself, but Oily 
is busy all day with other matters, and mother is so 
low-spirited about me that her conversation de- 
presses, rather than cheers me. Lottie is home by 
five o’clock, and does her part nobly — too well — 
for she is hoarse as a raven and quite spent in breath 
by the time school is out, and I don’t like to ask her 
to read, much less talk to me. So, I lie here and 
think, think, think ! until my brain whirls.” 

“ Poor brain ! ” Phemie had tossed off her sack 
and hat, and drawn the tired head to her shoulder, 
running her fingers through his hair, and chafing 
his temples. “ It ought to take a holiday. It has 
done good work in its day — not a long day, either.” 

The boy caught her up, quickly and pathetically. 
“And now — now the night conieth, in which no 
man can work — a night of years, Phemie ! It had 
better be the darkness of the grave ; I should burden 
nobody there. Oh ! ” — sobs breaking up the manly 
tone he would have used throughout the review of 
his condition — “It was my fondest hope to make 
for myself a name in the world and a home for you. 
hlow, I can never repay you for what you have done 
for me — must hang, a dead weight upon your hands 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


55 


— you, a woman, and I a man ! I wish my brains 
had been blown out along with my eyes ! ” 

‘‘ Bertie ! my treasure ! you shall not talk of such 
dreadful things! Should your sight never be re- 
stored — and mind! I am not at all convinced that it 
may not be ! should the worst come to the worst, 
there are many avenues of learning and usefulness 
open to the blind. I have fancied often that the 
mind works better in the dark. You have noticed 
this yourself, dear. Let us leave the future to our 
Heavenly Father. He will do what is best for usd' 

Albert writhed fretfully. Hot that tack, Phemie ! 
I broke out upon mother, to-day, with a touch of 
the feeling I have expressed to you, and she talked 
to me for an hour about the judgments sent upon 
people for their sins, and about the fire that never 
dieth, and other enlivening topics that are only fit to 
comfort people who have never suffered, when they 
bemoan their neighbor’s misfortunes. I ought to be* 
thankful for the loss of my eyes, I suppose, as she 
says, but I am not ! ” 

“ Husli, darling ! you are speaking irreverently of 
awful themes ! ” He could not see the solemn light 
in her eyes, but the inflections of her voice checked 
his' reckless murmurs. “ Our dear mother is a good 
woman, a humble Christian, but her piety is tinctured 
with the melancholy which is her favorite state of 
mind. I verily believed, when I was a child, that the 
Almighty was not only indifferent, but even averse 
to my salvation. I think mother has never grown 
from under the shadow of that idea. Whei eas, the 


50 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


truth — if His Word is to be believed — is that He is 
not willing that any should perish. His loving 
‘ Come ! ’ is to all who will hear and accept. Don’t 
fall into the habit of suspecting His love and good- 
ness, dearest! You can have no worse preparation 
for the battle of Life than doubts of your Leader, no 
better than the persuasion that he chastens reluctantly; 
that, if he conducts you through rough paths, it is be- 
cause they are safest ; that in the bright hereafter, 
you shall know the purpose and bearing of every step 
you have taken. Else, the word ‘ Father ’ would be 
a misnomer. I am a wayward, erring child, Bertie, 
but in all my wanderings, I try to remember this. 
It is liiy creed — a meagre one, maybe, but it helps 
me. Having finished my sermon, I mean to take 
you down stairs and give you your supper, like a 
gentleman of high degree. Will vour Bashawship 
be pleased to lean upon my shouiaer, and accept the 
additional support of my unworthy arm about your 
august waist ? ” 

‘‘You are better than any preacher ! ” said the boy, 
between a smile and a sigh.’ “ If you were always 
with me, I should never complain, I think.” 

“I will never leave you, dear, until you can take 
care of yourself — except when duty calls me from 
you for a few hours,” Phemie engaged, promptly. 
“ Our home shall alwa3'S be the same. Here we are, 
at the top of the stairs. Do not be afraid to step. I 
will not let j^ou fall.” 

“ Heither Mr. Hart nor Miss Darcy has called, or 
sent to inquire about me, to-da^q” said x^bert, when 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


57 


lie had eaten liis supper, served up by Pliemie while 
the others ate theirs in the dininij-room. 

“ That is not because they have not thought of 
you or do not like you,” was the response. “ They 
have been most attentive ; the kindest of the many 
friends this accident has developed. You should be 
very proud and glad that such a host of people are 
interested in you, Bertie. I am, for your sake. Our 
matchless Miss Darcy has outdone herself. Did I 
tell you that she and I have had our first quarrel over 
her determination to charge, herself with the expen- 
ses of your education? She will have it that she 
was, in some sort, to blame for the accident.” 

“She was not!” interrupted Albert. “It was my 
impatience. She put her hand on my shoulder to 
pull me back when I stooped to look into the cruci- 
ble ; I felt it, and ' ^ d her say : ‘ Take care I ’ ” 

“ I know ! I told her there was no need of her 
assistance in this case, and I mean to have my way. 
But she has a^reat, warm heart, hasn’t she ? And 
I am exceedingly desirous to see and thank your Mr. 
Hart for his visits and gifts.” 

“ I wish you could 1 ” She had foreseen that the 
remark would enliven him. “ You will like one 
another at sight. It is strange, you did not notice 
him the night I was hurt.” 

“ I had eyes only for you, my precious boy ! ” 
Phemie was lavish of caresses to no one except her 
brother. She fed him upon them and fond words 
now whenever he was left to her nursing. 

“ He is one of Miss Darcy’s committee, you know,” 
3 * 


58 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATIOm 


said Albert. “ His voice was the first I heard when 
I came to mj senses. He said : ‘ My brave lad ! ’ in- 
stead of what everybody else was groaning and sigh- 
ing, ‘Poor boy!’ Afterward he called me, ‘ My man,’ 
and ‘My noble fellow!’ I detest patronage; and he 
and Miss Darcy were the only persons about me who 
did not play the condescending patrons from the mo- 
ment I was knocked down to that in which I was 
put into the carriage. And when he comes to see 
me now, he talks as if he were one man and I another. 
The fruits and ices he has sent have been accompa- 
nied by his card, as if he considered me his equal. 
He is going to drop in some day when I am better 
and read to me.” 

■ “ Maybe, then, you don’t care to hear me read 
awhile now, instead of tiring yourself talking,” said 
Phemie, playfully. “ Your tongue is apt to run too 
fast when Mr. Hart is your theme. I shall grow 
jealous, soon, if you do not moderate your transports. 
To show that I am not, just yet, I am going to enter- 
tain you with one of his books. It is a fine thing to 
have a friend who is a book-merchant, is it not? I 
wonder if he needs a bookkeeper. I shall apply for 
the post when he does. Here is my creed set forth 
in verse, and so beautifully as to shame my halting 
prose,” she went on to say, dropping her bantering 
tone as she found the poem she was seeking. 

The volume was one of Whittier’s, and her selec- 
tion was his noble “ Psalm.” Her voice was a mel- 
low contralto, her enunciation roundly distinct, her 
emphasis just and earnest. Albert, absorbed in 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


59 


listening, as slie was in reading, heard no more than 
did she the slight bustle in the entry that should have 
notified them of the approach of intruders. It was 
Olive who unclosed the parlor door, and would have 
interrupted her sister, had not a beseeching gesture 
from her companion stayed her. Phemie’s profile 
was toward them, and her accents were slow and de- 
vout as she read : — 

“ ‘ All as God wills who wisely heeds 
To give, or to withhold, 

And knoweth more of human needs 
Than all my prayers have told! 

“ ‘ Enough that blessings undeserved 
Have marked my erring track ; — 

That wheresoe’er my feet have swerved 
His chastening turned me back.’ ” 

Practical Oily, if she had noticed particularly,” 
could have discerned some difference in Phemie’s 
manner of rendering these and her reading the penul- 
timate verse of the poem. But, somewhat impatient 
at her detention in the gusty passage, and embar- 
rassed at the silent halt upon the parlor-threshold,* 
she was not “noticing,” only wishing “Phernie would 
hurry up and get through.” Olive’s own private be- 
lief was that the visitor hesitated to enter because he 
fancied the brother and sister were engaged in 
their evening devotions, of which this hymn was a 
part. However this might be, the gentleman did 
“ notice,” and wonder at the liquid melody of the 
tones that dwelt lovingly upon each word : — 


60 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


“ ‘ That all the jarring notes of life 
Seem blending in a psalm, 

And all the angles of its strife 
Slow rounding into caTm.^ ” 

‘‘ That is delicious, Bertie ! ” said Phemie, repeat' 
ing the last line, softly and musingly. 

‘‘ That is not poetry, at any rate,” thought Olive. 
“ Thank gracious she has finished the tiresome thing ! ” 
and she pushed the door widely open. 

Phemie arose — not in confused haste — but in quiet 
self-possession, her book closed upon her finger, and 
beheld tlie stranger who had acted as Clara Mallory’s 
escort at the meeting of the- estranged school-fellows. 

“ My sister Euphemia, Mr. Hart ! ” uttered Olive, 
formally, and straightway disappeared, glad of the 
opportunity. 

The guest, having at his first visit to the house 
recognized in the sister of his protege the ‘^superb” 
bookkeeper who had won his admiration in the fancy 
store, was not surprised at the encounter, and Phemie, 
who was, was helped to conceal this by his easy, cor- 
dial salutation of her as the principal nurse of his 
young favorite. Who is looking better to-night ! ” 
he said, taking the eager hand stretched toward him 
from the sofa. “A judicious course of Whittier is a 
capital tonic, Miss Powland.” 

In five minutes they were talking together like 
old friends, Albert enjoying the meeting quite as 
much, if not rnore than he had expected to do. 

Whittier’s ‘‘Psalm” inevitably suggested Long- 
fellow’s “ Psalm of Life,” and this led |:o a critical 


PHEMIE^8 TEMPTATION. 


61 


discussion of the merits of the two. Mr. Hart, as an 
admirer of the Quaker poet, must, perforce in his zeal 
to establish his merits, take the volume from the 
young lady and read divers clioice passages. Phe- 
mie thought she had seldom heard finer reading — 
— a trifle theatrical, perhaps, to an ear unaccustomed 
to parlor elocutionists, but very pleasing and striking, 
nevertheless. They were at no loss for topics of com- 
mon interest, when this one was dismissed. Of course, 
as she said to herself afterward, it was not a notable 
occurrence with him to meet with a tolerably intelli- 
gent girl who loved poetry and eloquence, and had 
a smattering of certain sciences. The interview was, 
to him, one of many. To her, it was an event. Her 
intellect thirsted for such oftentimes. One class of 
her mental powers did the work of her daily life, and / 
this was the more ignoble. Her longings after loftier 
attainments in knowledge, her love of the beautiful 
in Nature, Art, and Literature, were nourished se- 
cretly and so scantily she feared, sometimes, they 
would perish utterly. 

Mr. Hart was unfeignedly interested in the new 
acquaintance brought thus oddly to his notice. He 
had known scores of pretty women in his time, and 
dozens of brilliant talkers who were seldom pretty. 
He had never before, if his memory served him 
aright, met one so handsome and sprightly as this 
daughter of the working-classes. She doubtless owed 
both sense and beauty to the circumstance of her 
father’s having been a gentleman, and herself having 
been born in a difierent spfiere from that which she 


62 


PUEMIWS TEMPTATION. 


now occupied, but marvellous .shares of resolution 
and genuine love of learning must have combined to 
urge her to the acquisition of that which she had evi- 
dently mastered — not dipped into. Ardent, without 
being hasty, thorough, yet not dull, the workings of 
her mind interested him and incited him to bring 
forth the best treasures of his. If these matched 
hers -only as paste simulates the gleam of the dia- 
mond, Phemie did not detect it. She had early 
been bound down by mean and harassing cares, the 
what to drink, to eat, and to wear, or, more truly, 
how to procure the money that represented these, had 
been set for her consideration when other girls were 
studying, with a lively sense of practical importance, 
the phases of masculine character presented to them 
in society. Her sketches of human nature were 
made in a totally different school from that to which 
this hero of Albert’s belonged. The cant of trade 
was familiar to her as her alphabet, and recalling her 
father’s oft-reiterated prognostications of ruin and 
ceaseless desires for wealth during the latter months 
of his life, she believed that all men talked it. Mr. 
Hart, who lived among books, and knew live authors, 
and talked about books of travel, history, biography, 
and poetry, as Mr. Arnold did of laces, ribbons, vel- 
A^ets, and profits — was a new revelation. 

Mrs. Howland had a headache; Charlotte was 
Avearied by her day’s work, and had gone to bed; 
Olive was busy, to-morroAV being baking day. The 
trio in the parlor were, therefore, uninterrupted by 
the introduction of incongruous elements into their 


PHBMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


63 


liarmonious councils, and time flew faster than any 
of them had any idea of. 

Mr. Hart, as was proper, was the first to bethink 
himself that his call might be unreasonably long. 
His start of dismay, when the nearest church-clock 
tolled the hour of ten, was unfeigned, but it made 
Phemie smile, and was, moreover, very subtle flat- 
tery to her colloquial talents. 

“ Try to forgive me, Albert ! ” begged the delin- 
quent. ‘‘ If you have a relapse, I shall find it more 
difficult to get my own pardon for my thoughtless- 
ness — my disregard of your comfort and health. 
Why didn’t you send me away an hour and a half 
ago, Miss Kowland ? ” 

While Albert replied with hospitable warmth that 
the visit had seemed to him short as it was delight- 
ful, and that he should be the better, not the averse 
for it, Phemie took a good look at the tall figure, 
bending toward the recumbent invalid. He w^as not 
regularly handsome, although she had thought him 
so, at the earliest glance. In stature, he was com- 
manding, and he carried himself well ; his hair was 
nearly, if not quite, black; his forehead high, but 
somewhat narrow across the temples; his eyes dark- 
gray, and bright or languishing as the lashes lifted 
or drooped ; his mouth was small — too small for manly 
beauty, and overhung by a neatly-trimmed mous- 
tache, while the unfortunate efiect of his retreating 
chin was skilfully lessened by the sweeping beard, 
which, it was easy to see, was his favorite vanity. 
His long white fingers caressed it when he listened 


U PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 

and when he laughed; pulled at it when he was 
perplexed or deeply thoughtful. If his portrait only 
had been exhibited to Phemie, she would have criti- 
cized sharply the defects of his physiognomy. Seen 
in the light of his kindly downward smile upon 
the suffering boy, the weariness of whose darkened* 
hours he had solaced by sympathy and genial com- 
panionship, and while the recollection of his agreea- 
ble converse was fresh in her memory, she decided 
anew that he was better than handsome; that he 
had the unmistakable air of a well-bred and highly- 
cultivated gentleman, and that he was all he appeared 
to be — and more. 

“If you are not injured by my selfish indiscretion 
of to-night, you will let me come again, will you 
not?” he said, in bidding Albert “Good-night.” “ I 
shall please myself by sending you ‘ Calaynos ’ to- 
morrow, Miss Rowland. I don’t ask you to read it 
aloud to your brother, but I am grievously mistaken 
if you do not find, here and there, passages you will 
be unwilling to enjoy alone. For your especial 
delectation, Albert, I shall slip into the package 
of books a volume of essays — Christopher North’s. 
They will help you get rid of the long evenings. If 
I can steal an hour or two per week, I want to read 
certain of these papers to you myself. I shall mark 
them in the book.” 

. “ Isn’t he splendid ? ” Albert broke forth, when he 
had gone. 

“He is very pleasant.” Phemie was ashamed 
when she had used the tame phrase. Since she had 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


65 


taken real and lively pleasure in the society of their 
new acquaintance, why shouldn’t she say as much ? 
Mr. Hart was no more to her than an entertaininp: 

O 

man, and a man was a being to be discussed as freely 
as any other specimen of animated nature — that was 
— by a sensible woman. She said out her next 
tiiought openly, as an amende for her disingenuous- 
ness. “ It would be nice to have him for a frequent 
visitor, wouldn’t it, dear? We should derive im- 
provement as well as enjoyment from the associa- 
tion.” She withheld the swift after-reflection. “But 
that is a thing we have no right to expect. He comes 
now out of pity for Albert. The probability is that 
we shall see nothing more of him after his next 
visit — if, indeed, he should remember to call again. 
Heigh-ho ! this evening’s episode has been a green 
and gladsome spot in a dry and thirsty land where 
little water is ! ” 

Albert, too, was silent for, a minute. “Phemie, 
darling!” he said, then. “What have you on, to- 
night ?” 

“ The old Hankeen, Bertie 1 the Inevitable, you 
know ! ” She strove to say it gayly, but the striving 
was palpable. She had not thought once of her 
attire while Mr. Hart stayed, but the sense of its 
homeliness — its positive shabbiness and unsuitable- 
ness to the season, fell suddenly upon her at her 
brother’s query, together with the impression of 
elegant neatness her late visitor’s dress conveyed to 
all who saw him. The boy’s mouth changed from 
its musing smile. “ Why do you ask ? ” his sister 


66 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


resumed, not without hope that his answer would 
contradict her uncomfortable misgivings. 

“ Oh, I merely wanted to picture to myself how 
you look. You are beautiful in any dress, let it be 
ermine, velvet, or calico. You are always my Queen 
of Love and Beauty. And Mr. Hart has too much 
good sense to care for tine clothes.” 

Phemie seemed to arouse herself from a bewitch- 
ing dream. “ He is a man of the world, Bertie, and 
it is of no consequence to him what I wear — I — a 
girl so far removed from the circle of his intimates, 
that the assumption of their manners and dress 
would be ridiculous. While we retain our self- 
respect, we are sure of not being despised by him. 
As a means to gaining this end, we must bear in 
mind that he is a wealthy gentleman, and we work- 
ing-people — day-laborers.” 

“ Labor is honorable ! ” asserted Albert, quickly. 

Yery -true, dear! But the comprehensions of 
'many are not sufficiently enlightened to ’ appreciate 
the importance of that truth. 2Vnd prejudice is 
mighty, even in enlightened minds.” 

don’t comprehend what you are hinting at!” 
said the boy, with an uneasy twist upon his pillow. 

“ ISTo ? I do not myself — very clearly. Perhaps 
at the prejudices of doctors and nurses in favor of 
early hours and obedience to their regimen on the 
part of their patients,” was Phemie’s laughipg reply. 



i 



CHAPTEE 17. 



■*188 D AEG Y was hard at work in her office 
on a blustering March daj. 8he was a 
woman forty years of age, tall and spare, 
after the generally received type of 
middle-aged maiden ladies, and in the 
peculiar costume she had adopted, she looked taller 
and thinner than she really was. Her dress was a 
mixed gray worsted material, the waist made up 
without trimming or padding ; the skirt gored — it 
was before the trim ‘^Gabrielle” came into vogue, 
and she claimed the patent — and hoopless, when 
every woman in town, who had the slightest regard 
for her appearance, wore hoops nine feet in circum- 
ference. Her gray hair — still soft and abundant— 
was brushed back d la Chinoise^ a style affected at 
that date by few excepting very pretty young girls 
whose faces could bear any style of coiffure, and 
twisted into a hard “ club” at the back of her head, 
that would not come down until such time as she 
should be ready for bed. One hairdressing sufficed 
for her day. 8he had no time to waste upon trivial 


68 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


pursuits, for Miss Darcj was a woman of business. 
True to her habits of system and order, her apparel 
and every part of her room were clean and neatly 
arranged. Not an atom of dust; no straggling ends 
of ribbon or tape ; no littering papers were visible 
about her person or floor, or table, and shelves. All 
were tight and tidy, that her work might progress 
without ' let or hindrance, after it had fairly com- 
menced. At the same time there was an utter desti- 
tution of ornament in her surroundings, seldom seen 
in men’s offices and counting-rooms. Her books — 
and these were numerous — were in plain, service- 
able bindings, and packed in solid rows upon shelves 
of unpainted wood, lining three sides of the room, 
and protected by glass sliding-doors,' like window- 
sashes. An oil-cloth covered the floor; the chairs 
were of yellow wood — backs and seats — even the re- 
volving office-chair in wffiich she sat at an oaken 
desk of the sternest and most uncompromising pat- 
tern, if we except one higher and narrower, set 
between the windows, at which Miss Darcy stood to 
write when she was tired of sitting. 

A tyro in Lavater’s art could not have mistaken 
her for a genius, after a study of her visage. The 
keen blue eye; rounded forehead, ridged only, and 
that not strongly, by the swelling of the perceptive 
organs ; the straight nose and somewhat prominent 
mouth told of fair intellectual abilities; of great 
quickness of observation and vivacity of thought, and 
upon every feature was stamped her pre-eminent 
trait, energy — indomitable, not spasmodic, coupled 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


69 


with sanguine coiTrage that feared and faltered at 
nothing. ^ 

She had begun her career in life with the resolve 
to be, and to accomplish something for herself, out- 
side the beaten track allotted by custom to woman- 
kind. Circumstances favoring the development of 
her original design, she had worked her way up to a 
creditable position in the eyes of those who honored 
mental industry and pure philanthropy, and earned, 
for herself, with the masses, the title of “ a stron g- 
minded woman” — “female,” Seth Mandell, as one 
of said masses, designated her. She was emphati- 
cally a humanitarian, and having a bias for reforms, 
she had been a woman of war from her youth up. 
There was no warmer or larger heart under the 
silken bodice of the gentlest mother in the land than 
throbbed in her corsetless bosom ; no more fervent 
prayer reached the ear of the All-Father, whom she 
worshipped with the hearty guilelessness of a child, 
than ascended, in ever-burning incense, from her 
soul, for the happiness of her kind. To accomplish 
this — her chief aim in life— she spent and was spent. 
To succor the poor and needy; to convince the err- 
ing of misdeed, and lead him to the light ; to right 
the wronged, and uproot the evil that had wrought 
his ruin ; in a word, to live out, in its full and glo- 
rious significance, the Kule of rules, 'which — ;if all 
endeavored to obey it as she did — would do away 
with the need of other statutes and statute-books; 
this was her purpose, high and fixed, the mission to 
which she deeme i~iierself solemnly set apart by signs 


YO PHEMIB^S TEMPTATION. 

not to be misread, and she wrought at it mightily, 
and, as was her nature, hopefully. 

I am not affirming that it was other than a rank 
and superfluous offshoot of a principle in itself 
worthy of all commendation, that made Miss Darcy 
an advocate of the equal riglits of her sex with man. 
I do admit that she was led by her zeal — mistaken 
or legitimate — into injudicious declarations on this 
head ; that many of her schemes were proven to be 
.IJtopian and Quixotic, and her positions to be unten- 
able, unless at a cost prudent people would hesitate 
to pay — namely, a tearing-down, melting over, and 
making up again into an entirely new shape, the 
structure of the laws and society of the present day. 
I must regret, furthermore, as a candid historian, 
that her energy and philanthropy combined to war 
against her adoption of the time-honored and cer- 
tainly safe maxim, “ Festina lente.” Nor do I deny 
that if she had looked before she leaped into the 
arena of public conflict, she might have remembered 
another valuable scrap of common sense, to the ef- 
fect .that, as a general rule-, the best way to convert 
even so hard-hearted a wretch as a confirmed and 
masculine man is not to begin by knocking him 
down. Again, dealing still in generalities, I may 
suggest that most men are not fond of being knocked 
down, and that, unless in very exceptional cases, a 
reformer does not ingratiate himself into their confi- 
dence and good-will by a tremendous display of this 
sort of moral pugilism. 

Maybe Miss Darcy had not looked. It is certain 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


n 


she had leaped. And she did it with a spring and 
vehemence that sent the feeble-minded scattering to 
the right and left, like flocks of affrighted and af- 
fronted geese, and rallied the valorous custodians of 
ancient usages' and landmarks into a phalanx of re- 
sistance to new measures and pestilent radicals. Es- 
pecially, women’s rights radicals. With the bachelor 
of Tarsus jas their fugleman — an honorable gentle- 
man, by the way, w^hose few remarks touching the 
expediency of women’s learning of their husbands 
at home (presupposing, mark you ! that their hus- 
bands knew enough to teach them), their wearing 
their hair long, and submitting themselves to their 
Christian lords (and such are worthy of all deference 
and honor), whose three ^or four brief deliverances 
on this subject, I say, have been handled and twisted 
in a style he little anticipated when he penned them, 
with these mottoes upon their banners, they assem- 
bled on their side overwhelming odds of respecta- 
bility and piety. Secure in numbers and the pres- 
tige of honored customs, they hurled deflance at the 
aggressor — deflance which would have been both ir: 
rational and insolent, had those who employed this 
means of warfare been less sensible and respectable. 

If, in the name of industrious wives with starving 
children and drunken husbands ; of widows, who, 
their lords having died intestate, saw their ample 
dowries parcelled out among rapacious and un- 
friendly relatives-in-law, our reformer assailed the 
property -laws of her native State, and of most other 
States, for that matter, as oppressive and iniquitous. 


72 


PEEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


her opponents inquired, sometimes piously, some- 
times profanely, what under heaven was left for a 
woman to desire, if she were once enriched by the 
possession of a husband? Of course, all that she 
had and all she was, became, absolutely, and be- 
yond recall, his; from the hour, when, in words of 
man’s making, he vowed at the altar to endow her 
with all his worldly goods. As Saxe wickedly and 
wittily remarks : — 

“ Once born in Boston, need no second birth.” 

So, once married, women need no other wealth. 

If — and upon this section of her bill of rights Miss 
Darcy was “ terrific ” — said the aforesaid weak and 
strong, in chorus — if she demanded other avenues 
of honorable labor for women than the crowded 
lanes in which they were beaten down by competi-^ 
tion, until the weary day was too short in which to 
earn the pittance that was to buy bread for crying 
babes and superannuatped parents ; if she pealed a 
war-cry that shot a thrill to the heart of the teacher, 
as she bowed her contracted chest, curved spine, 
and dimming eyes over the pyramid of copy-books 
and exercises left upon her desk at the close of her 
day’s labor among classes men had not the patience 
or tact to instruct ; that quickened the numbed 
feet of the saleswoman, forbidden to rest these, or 
lessen the sickening pain in her back by sitting 
down for one instant for six, or it might be.,twelve 
hours, on a stretch; that nerved the cramped 
fingers of the copyist, whose chirograph y was pro- 


PEEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. Y3 

nounced legible as a man’s, and more rapid ; if 
employers frowned and stormed, and operatives 
dared be glad at sound of her fearless, ‘‘ Men’s 
Wages foe Men’s Woek ! ” her antagonists were 
also ready and undaunted. “Nobody asked women 
to do men’s work. If they would overstep^ the 
modest bounds appointed by Providence (!) as the 
sphere of their labors and aspirations, they must 
take what they received for the rash undertaking, 
and be thankful they were not hustled with igno- 
miny from the forbidden ground. Let women stay 
at home — had not St. Paul said this, over and over ? 
— and mend their husbands’ stockings, or their bro- 
thers’, if they were husbandless — or those of their 
nearest masculine relative, if brother and husband 
■ were both wanting — and rock their babies’ cradles, 
or their sisters’ babies’ cradles, if they had none of 
their own, and keep the pot boiling, let the con- 
tents be turtle-soup or oat-meal porridge, or husks 
and water. Nobody would' find fault with them 
while thus meekly fulfilling the duties of their voca- 
tion, and, since every rule works both ways, they 
would have no cause of complaint against any one 
else.” 

These were the stock arguments of the opposition 
— these, and the yet more telling weapon of ridi- 
cule, fancy sketches of society under the proposed 
regime.,- when every woman should be forty years 
old, with grizzled tresses drawn back from their 
sharp features, and should dress in gray and discard 
crinoline ; when wives should go to Congress and 
4 


% 

74 PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 

their spouses stay at home to tend the baby ; when 
the acme of praise applied to one of the d-devant 
stronger sex should be to call him a dutiful husband, 
and wives should smile proud patronage upon the 
pattern partners who relieved them of household 
car(^, at hearing that Rev. Mrs. So-and-so, or the 
Hon. Mrs. Blank, had declared them, the model 
help-meets, to be wonderfully well-informed — 
almost as clever as women.” 

• Any one of which retorts, as may be seen by a 
woman with half an eye, and by a man with no 
eyes at all, more than an answer to a volume of 
statistics setting forth the abuses of masculine au- 
thority over the weaker — and softer — sex. Miss 
Darcy might feign to sweep these “ clinchers ” 
aside as cobwebs of sophistry and special pleading. 
They were cobwebs that caught many flies, and 
some honest-minded bees, and the hurii and buzz of 
these sometimes drowned her battle-cry. Her pro- 
fession — that by which she got her daily bread and 
the means of helping others — was that of literary 
hack. She was the acknowledged Editor — not pro- 
prietor — of one magazine, and, unsuspected by the 
readers, wrote many editorial articles for other 
periodicals. Her style was epigrammatic; she had 
an exhaustless store of general information, in tech- 
nical phraie, was “ well booked up ” in history, solid 
literature, and the sciences ; she could do all sorts 
of odd literary jobs upon short notice, except such 
as were unfair and unclean, and her pen was seldom 
idle. Those who did not know her, save by com- 


PEEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


75 


mon report, hated the sound of her name ; her 
beneficiaries — those to whom she had ministered in 
mind, body, or estate, revered her as a saint, and 
the few; friends who had the opportunity of reading 
the clear pages of the beautiful soul concealed by 
her homely guise and blunt manner, loved as jinuch 
as they respected her, and that was sincerely and 
earnestly. 

She was driving her pen diligently this morning, 
sitting very erect, without, as I have hinted, the sup- 
port of a corset-board, when a knock at the door 
brought two monosyllables from her lips without 
withdrawing her eyes from the paper under her fin- 
gers. Her ‘‘ofiice ” was the front of a pair of rooms 
she rented in a second-class boarding-house, and was 
open to callers at all hours of the day^ after half-past 
eight A. M. “ Come in ! ” she said, in a pleasant, even 
voice, that was always a surprise to fresh acquain- 
tances, being neither sharp nor loud. 

“ Good morning ! ” said the visitor, pausing at the 
door. “ Am I intruding ? I can come again, if you 
will appoint an hour when you will be less busy.” 

‘‘ Ah, Hart ! Good morning ! ” Miss Darcy arose 
and gave him her hand. Her address might have 
been more ceremonious, and in terms more respect- 
ful, but, while I do not urge it in extenuation of the 
improprieties manifest in this, I may remark, en jpcbs- 
sant.^ that the character of her dealings with most so- 
called gentlemen, or their dealings with her, had not 
been such as to impress her with veneration, or an 
extraordinary degree of respect at their approach. 




76 


PEEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


She was entirelj consistent, moreover, and would 
have been content had he called her ‘‘Darcy” in re- 
turn. “ I am glad to see you,” she added. “ Take 
a seat ! My work can stand still for a little while 
without hurt to it or to myself.” 

M4;. Hart helped himself to one of the hard chairs, 
and set his hat upon another. “It is a bitter wind 
to-day ! ” he observed, stroking his redundant beard 
into its accustomed graceful fall. “ You are wise to 
stay within doors.” 

“ I stay in because I am busy. I like this weather. 
The wind gives one something to do when he walks, 
and stirs the blood healthily. I have to walk three 
miles, this afternoon.” 

“ Indeed ! I do not envy you ! ” raising his shoul- 
ders, with a slight laugh. 

He would have envied her less had he known that 
her mission was to one of the worst wards in the city, 
in which she meant to watch, all night, with a fever- 
patient. It was not her way to mention these things. 

“ I came in on a little matter of business,” resumed 
Mr. Hart. “We want to bring out a compendium 
of Chemistry — a text-book, suitable for schools, while 
it shall yet be interesting reading for the private 
student, or family circle. We have daily calls for 
such, and there is not in the market one which we 
can honestly recommend. Mallory leaves all mat- 
ters pertaining to book-writing and book-writers to 
me, and I know of nobody more ' competent to meet 
my wishes in this regard than yourself. Will you 
undertake the task ? ” 


$ 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


77 


Miss Darcy shook her head in a decided negative. 
“ I cannot ! I could not touch it for six months to 
come, and your part of the work — plates, etc. — 
would take at least three months more. I should 
like to oblige you, and I should enjoy the work better 
than I do that which will prevent my compliance with 
your wish, but I never make an engagement unless 
there is a reasonable probability that I can fulfil it.” 

“I am disappointed ! ” said the young publisher, 
sincerely. “And ba:6ed. You cannot recommend 
some one else to me who is fit to prepare the volume, 
can you ? ” 

Miss Darcy mused. “ Yes I ” she said, at length, 
her eyes lighting up with the pure pleasure of doing 
a benevolent deed. “ 1 know who can do it as well 
— better than I can — better because she holds a more 
facile pen than my blunt nib. Euphemia Rowland 
can get up your compend to your satisfaction. 
Whether she will or not, I cannot say. If you 
choose to make her an ofier upon my recommenda- 
tion, you can do so.” 

Mr. Hart looked interested. “You surprise me! 
I had no idea — I would say that I have conversed 
with the young lady, during two or three of my 
visits to her brother, and found her more than agree- 
able — exceedingly intelligent and sprightly. Of her 
proficiency in other branches of -kudy than belles- 
lettres, I have, of course, had no means of judging. 
I was under the impression, however, that, of late 
years, she had been engrossed by other occupations 
to the exclusion of such pursuits.” 


t 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


Y8 


The charger snuffed the wind from the battle-field, 
and was on her mettle immediately. “ That is, you 
had an idea that a girl who works for a living must 
necessarily be sordid, and incapable of love of learn- 
ing for learning’s sake. In this instance, at least, 
your acumen is at fault. Euphemia has been an 
enthusiastic student of other and grander mysteries 
than the multiplication table and double entry, and 
I can answer for her that, up to this hour, not a 
thought has crossed her mind that she may make 
money by the exercise of her memory and talents in 
this line. I overhauled a portfolio of hers, a month 
ago, and disinterred from its depths more good things 
than on*e meets in nine out of ten magazines that 
people subscribe to, and praise. I brought three or 
four home with me, to read at my leisure, I told her. 
You will see one of these in my next number. She 
will be surprised when it meets her eyes — perhaps 
disposed to be .ofiended. I don’t care if she is. 
There is rare metal in her mind, and k ought to be 
worked. But don’t take my word for her attain- 
ments in chemistry. Contrive an opportunity for 
examining her yourself. You can easily invent a 
pretext.” 

Mr. Hart laughed again, less easily than before, 
pretty catechist I should be! If she is thorough, 
as you say, she would have me out of my deptli in 
five minutes. You know. Miss Darcy~so I need 
not try to conceal from you what I don’t care to 
proclaim from the house-top — to wit, that thorough- 
ness is not my forte. What I know I have picked 


% 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


79 


up for myself, in so many fields, I have not had time 
to glean any clean. I am interested in what you say 
of Miss Kowland. You will do me a service by ap- 
proaching her on this subject. You can do it better 
than I. Tell her what will be required of her, should 
she undertake the job, and say that she shall receive 
whatever remuneration you and she deem just and 
liberal. I would not say as much to most women, 
but I can trust. your judgment and honor.” 

You could trust many more, without being rob- 
bed ! ” observed the champion of her sex. “ The ma- 
jority of women, poor souls ! are underpaid to such 
a degree that they wouldn’t know how to set an ex- 
orbitant price upon their work. I thank you hearti- 
ly for this offer to Euphemia. She will like the 
work — chemistry being a favorite pursuit with her — 
and she needs the money. She has had much to try 
her spirits lately, and this, by giving her pleasant 
occupation in the evenings, will prevent her from 
dwelling upon^ her discomforts.” 

“ Her brother’s state must weigh heavily upon her 
mind,” remarked Mr. Hart, too polite to give verbal 
expression to the curiosity begotten by his compan- 
ion’s reference to a plurality of trials. 

“Yes. Her main wish in his behalf may be grat- 
ified through your ‘instrumentality. She wants to 
enter him as a pupil in the State Asylum for the 
blind. The fees are not high. I shall force her to 
let me bear a portion of the expense. I cannot di- 
vest myself of the idea that I was, in some sense, re- 
sponsible for the accident that cost him his eyesight. 


80 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


I think I see the way in which she is to earn her 
proportion of the needful sum,” smiling approval 
upon her visitor, a benignant beam that clothed her 
marked features with real beauty. “But,” she con- 
tinued, “Phemie is proud, and, hide it as she may, 
too sensitive for the rough handling of the everyday 
world. She chafes grievously under a reprimand, 
administered, the other day, by her employer — a 
purse-proud dolt — who is yet wise enough to know that 
he is defrauding her by keeping her in his store upon 
a salary which a half-witted hod-ca:^rier, who happens 
to have been born a man, would scorn to accept. I 
have been meaning to tell you the incident as I 
had it from Charlotte. Euphemia has never alluded 
to it in my hearing. It has occurred to me that you 
might be able to cast some light upon the transaction, 
since your partner’s sister was one of the principals 
in it. Some time last month. Miss Mallory offered a 
bill at Arnold’s in payment for certain articles she 
had bought, and Phemie pronounced it to be a coun- 
terfeit. Some discussion ensued, and the affair was 
settled by the presentation of a good bill of the same 
amount, by a gentleman who had accompanied Miss 
Mallory to the store. There the story should end. 
Miss Mallory thought differently. She was deeply 
offended at Euphemia’s conduct in the case, and took 
occasion to express her resentment to those who car- 
ried the tale, with amplifications, to Mr. Arnold. He 
was displeased and alarmed to learn that a young 
lady of wealth and fashion had stated publicly her 
determination never to enter his establishment again 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


81 


while he retained his present book-keeper; adding 
that it was unsafe for an unprotected woman to deal 
at his counters, enfolding her declaration bj recount- 
ing her unfortunate experience. Whereupon, Eu- 
phemia, being a poor girl, dependent for her liveli- 
hood upon her industry and unblemished character, 
and Miss Mallory being raised far above such vulgar 
considerations, our noble-minded merchant summon- 
ed to his private office the subordinate whose offence 
had consisted in zeal for his interests, and cautioned 
her stringently against a repetition of the insult to 
his customers. 

“ ‘ You should not have pressed the objection when 
Miss Mallory persisted in her belief that the note was 
good,’ he said. ‘ If it had deceived her, you could 
readily have passed it off to some one else. At least,’ 
as Euphemia looked her amazement at this remark- 
able bit of morality, ‘you should have made every 
effort to secure Miss Mallory’s good-will. The loss 
of her custom, and that of those who may be influ- 
enced by her story, will be greater than ten times 
the amount of the doubtful note. You are too abrupt, 
Miss Rowland — too regardless — I may say, rudely 
neglectful of the .feelings of your associates, and of 
my patrons. You must cultivate a more insinuating 
manner and study policy, if you expect to remain in 
my employ. I may as well be plain with you.’ ” 

“She should have resigned her situation on the 
spot ! ” exclaimed Mr. Hart. “ I cannot understand 
how any woman of spirit could submit to such an 
affront. And she has a spirited face and manner.” 

4HC 


82 


PEEMIE'B TEMPTATION. 


Spirit is an admirable commodity, but expen- 
sive!” rejoined Miss Darcy, dryly. “Too expensive 
for the use of a young girl whose mother, sister, and 
blind brother are dependent upon her labor. Sit- 
uations are difficult to get, in these times, as proba- 
bly Mr. Arnold reflected when he rebuked his ser- 
vant for performing her duty. If she had taken the 
nofe, he is quite capable of requiring her to palm it 
off upon some other ignoramus like her who tender- 
ed it, or to assume the loss herself.” 

“ Come ! now you are too hard upon your natural 
enemies ! ” objected the other, good-humoredly. 
“ Give even a man his due.” 

“Woe be to most of them if I did! ” was the an- 
swer, uttered as good-humoredly. “ But seriously, 
I could cite dozens of cases in which the latter course 
has been pursued. And why not? It makes em- 
ployees careful to use their eyes and wits well. 
There is a law against passing or receiving counter- 
feit money, and upon what class can it be more 
safely enforced than upon shop-girls, whose brothers 
and fathers, when they have them, are too poor to 
go to law, and who would be worsted to a dead cer- 
tainty, if they were to resort to this measure ? To 
return to the subject of Mr. Arnold’s reprimand. 
Phemie has never been accused of a want of spirit, 
but she is also sensible and prudent, so she pocketed 
the insult. Women in her position put more of that 
sort of thing into their pockets than anything -else. 
It has galled and depressed her unspeakably, Char- 
lotte says, but she has no redress. I have seriously 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


83 


meditated an appeal to Miss Mallory. She is a 
stranger to me, but I have thought if the matter 
were set fairly before her, she might recall her reso- 
lution of deliberate injury to one who was her asso- 
ciate in former days.” 

“ Hey ! What did you say ? Of whom are you 
speaking ? ” asked her auditor, in genuine surprise. 

Clara Mallory was the bosom friend of Phemie 
Kowland when the Kowlands were somebodies. As 
nobodies — and worse than nobodies — now they can- 
not expect her to recollect the unimportant fact of 
their existence. Miss Clara may, or may not, have 
recognized her old school-fellow after .a five years’ 
separation. We will give her the benefit of the 
doubt. But she knows that she has no adequate 
cause for her unwomanly persecution of her neglected 
school-fellow.” 

it unwomanly ? ” Mr. Hart could not. avoid 
saying. ‘‘ Are not your sex harder upon each other 
than men are — taking men at their worst ? ” 

‘‘ I am afraid there is much truth in what you 
say,” returned Miss Darcy, unabashed. “ The worst 
master in the world is a lately emancipated slave, or 
one who, while in bondage himself, is suffered to 
control others. . -He understands so well how it is 
done, you see. As to my poor Phemie, she must 
take Life as it comes to her. God help her and pity 
us all ! ” 

“A little^ human." help may not be unacceptable, 
nevertheless ! ” Mr. Hart smiled to himself in tak- 
ing out his pocket-book. 


84 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


She wouldn’t accept money from you, or from 
any one else, while she can hold up her head or move 
her fingers!” cried Miss Darcy, red with generous 
indignation, and not a little mortified at what she 
imagined was the result of the interview. “I would 
not have been so amazed at many other men. Hart ! 
But you should know better and do better than to 
fall into the popular fallacy of most well-to-do-people 
— the belief that bank-bills are an infallible plas- 
ter for all the ills that the honest poor are subject to. 
Euphemia Howland is a lady as truly as you are a 
gentleman, more truly, if you insult me by suspect- 
ing that this frank talk of mine was a trap set to 
catch your alms 1 ” 

The man of books laughed until he could scarcely 
extract from an inner pocket of his wallet a folded 
paper. “ Oblige me by looking at that 1 ” he said, 
still shaking with merriment. 

Miss Darcy complied, carelessly at first, being 
still warm with resentment of the insult offered her 
favorite. Then, something in the appearance of the 
bill catching her eye, she scrutinized it warily. “ It 
is spurious 1 How came you by it ? ” 

“ I had it from Miss Howland’s own hand, although 
^he has not identified me with Miss Mallory’s escort 
pn the day of their fracas. It is a counterfeit, as you 
say, and wretchedly executed. Miss Mallory and I 
were on our way to an exhibition of paintings, and 
took Arnold’s in our route, she being in perishing 
need of some divine lace she had heard of as procura- 
ble at that emporium. As a gentleman ” — mischiev- 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


85 


ouslj emphatic — ‘‘ I could not do less than extricate 
her from her disagreeable situation in the manner 
you have related. Her impression, while conversing 
with Miss Eowland, was that she had received the 
note at Wylie’s. Of this she became doubtful, upon 
mature deliberation, and the upshot of the matter 
was that I have set down the $20 to profit and loss, 
and begged her never to think of it again. As a 
gentleman, having heard your story, I cannot now do 
less — I wish I could do more — than show this apple 
of discord to Mr. Arnold, and exonerate Miss Kow- 
land from all blame in the affair. As the partner of 
Miss Mallory’s brother, and an eye-witness of the' 
proffer and rejection of the note, I am the fittest 
person to interfere for the justification of your friend.” 

“ I beg your pardon ! ” Miss Darcy extended her 
hand, and the keen blue eyes were overcast into 
softness as she said it. “ I did you foul injustice, and 
I am sorry for it. You heart is in the right place, if 
it is buttoned in by a broadcloth waistcoat.” 

“ Thank you ! ” he arose. “ If you will excuse the 
threadbare pun, I may remark that I fear this Hart 
has been in the wrong place for the last ten minutes. 
I have trespassed too long upon your valuable time. 
When you have communicated my offer to Miss 
Eowland, and had her reply, please let me know. 
Good-day ! ” 

Miss Darcy did not jestingly construe the latter 
sentence into a double entendre. Such ideas were 
not in her line of thought or action. And she was 
assuredly the last person Mr. Hart, or any other gentle 


86 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


man who only met her in business hours, would have 
selected as the bearer of any offer more sentimental 
than one pertaining to dollars and cents. The steady 
gleam returned to the bright eyes, and the expression 
of settled purpose and energy to her features and 
figure, as she bent again over her manuscript, ere the 
echo of the visitor’s footsteps ceased to resound in the 
hall. True, he had left her much to think of, but this 
was not the time for doing it. 

r 

v/ 




CHAPTER Y. 

H the afternoon of the March^aj, the morn- 
ing of which Mr. Hart had s^cted for his 
call upon Miss Darcy — an afternoon more 
blustering, after the wont of March weather, 
than the morning had been, Phemie Row- 
land sat at^her high desk, seemingly intent upon her 
books, but, in reality, with not enough to do, in the 
way of business, ‘ to occupy her thoughts, although 
she might and did keep her fingers in motion. Cus- 
tomers had been scarce all day, and diminished in 
numbers as the wind gained fury and persistence. 
From her seat she could see columns of dust moving 
dbwn the street ; the rocking trees ; awnings billow- 
ing in the gale, or torn into ribbons, and the jeal- 
. ously-closed glass doors were insufficient to exclude 
the finer particles of the offensive cloud from the in- 
terior of the store. They settled upon her paper in 
gritty powder that clogged her ink and set her teeth 
on edge as it ground into the hand resting upon the 
'‘•page. The sky was pale and hard; the sunshine 
raw, and devoid of warmth, and not a leaf-bud had 





88 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


had the temerity to put forth. The day was more 
drearily depressing than one of fog and storm would 
have been, and the knots of girls, huddled in con- 
venient nooks behind counters, and about the front 
windows, yawned and talked in low, languid tones, 
of the stupid weather and the dulness of everything 
else. 

Euphemia was left to herself. She had never en- 
couraged those who were her comrades in name 
alone to cluster around her desk, and they manifested 
less inclination to do this now that it was commonly 
understood she was under the ban of Mr. Arnold’s 
magnificent displeasure. He had never censured her 
prior to her encounter with Miss Mallory, although 
he was not famed for regard for the feelings of the 
young ladies in his employ. In consequence of this 
immunity from criticism she had compofted herself, 
whispered her envious associates, as if she were above 
the reach of fault finding. “How that her comb 
was cut, she might carry her head less loftily,” they 
hoped. Phemie knew all they felt and said as if she 
had heard every ill-natured remark. She was think- 
ing it over sadly, while she feigned to be busy. 

She had not courted their ill-will, but her mind 
had been full of other things— engaged with themes 
of which they were profoundly ignorant. She lived 
in a different world from that in wWch they sailed 
their little round. They had found it out, and it 
was not in them to forgive the presumption. Who, 
and what was she, that, her regards should never de- 
scend to the pleased contemplation of their pleasures. 


89 


pe'emie'8 temptation. 

or her ear liearken sympathizingly to the story of 
their troubles — their contrivances to appear like 
ladies of high degree, upon salaries that were exceed- 
ed by the %vages of a plain cook, and cast into the 
shade by the pay of a washerwoman ; their anxious 
manoeuvres to draw the notice of beauish clerks and 
thriving mechanics ; their complaints and combina- 
tions against the common enemy and master? It 
was too good — so tittered the amiable sisterhood — 
that she should be taught her true place ; be made 
to understand of how little avail was all her ostenta- 
tious and hypocritical show of devotion to his inter- 
ests. She might better have had a jolly time with 
the others ; evaded rules, and shirked work whenever 
she could. For their part they meant to do just as 
much as they were paid for, and not a jot more, un- 
less forced^to it. They didn’t pretend to be learned 
in books, but they did hope they knew how to take 
care of themselves. 

Phemie did not resent this ungenerous exultation 
over her humiliation. She had not deserved it, but 
they believed that she had. Mr. Arnold was correct 
in saying that she was deficient in polite com- 
plaisance to the whims and weaknesses of others. 
She could not fawn or ‘wheedle, and she had not 
time to spend in cultivating people who were not 
worth cultivating. She had yet to learn that if we 
do not seek to win smiles, frowns will be bestowed 
gratuitously. There was enough in her own home 
to bow the spirit without the addition of unkindness 
from" without. A consultation of physicians had de- 


90 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


cided, three days before, that Albert’s blindness was 
incurable. Charlotte had had another hemorrhage 
— very slight, but alarming, inasmuch as it showed 
the foe, consumption, to be lurking on the outposts 
of her constitution — and prices were rising. Be- 
tween those she loved best and the black bread of 
penury — the blacker, more distasteful crusts of charity, 
was her single hand, and her recent experience of 
Mr. Arnold’s humors had revealed to her the slen- 
derness of this barrier. She was not prone to bor- 
row care, but a continuous weight will, in time, bend 
springs of the finest metal and best temper. It is a 
strain that tries the stoutest will to keep one’s face 
turned constantly to the light when a stiff gale of 
discouragements is as constantly tending to twist it 
in the opposite direction. Phemie wrestled bravely, 
yet even she was tired, to-day. 

“ I begin to enter into Olive’s meaning when she 
says, every other Saturday, that she is ready to sit 
down until the unfinished work mounts to her chin 
— ^then get upon the table,” she said to herself, a 
faint smile touching her lips — not her eyes — at the 
droll conceit. “ Only, with me, the table is wanting. 
Then, again, if I- go down, I drag others with me. 
Oh, my weak, burdened hands ! If I could but 
stretch them once toward the free heavens, in the 
knowledge that my helpless darlings were provided 
for, and that I might cross my acliing wrists for one 
hour of reposeful gratitude! Will the day ever 
come? and how? Father! forgive Thine impatient 
child ! Strengthen her in this season of weak dis- 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 91 

may ! Thou, wlio didst bear the sore Jbiirden of hu- 
manity, help me to support my cross I ’’ . 

The most devout prayers are not always those 
uttered upon the knees in churches and oratories. 
I^’o veiled nun, weeping before the crucifix in her 
stone cell, could sob petitions fraught with deeper 
humility, more passionate earnestness, than was this 
voiceless appeal to the Hearer of all prayer, the God 
of all sanctuaries, the Saviour of the tempted and 
the sinking. 

A gentleman passed up the store, so close to her 
desk she could have touched his sleeve, but the bow- 
ed head was not lifted. Shut in from the outer 
scene by her thronging thoughts, she did not hear 
the buzz succeeding the silence of respect or civility 
that had reigned during his transit from the front 
door to Mr. Arnold’s private office. On a busy day 
he might have come and gone a dozen times without 
attracting so much attention. On this windy after- 
noon events were at a premium, and when it was 
whispered from one to another that this distinguish- 
ed-looking personage was Miss Mallory’s fiance., and 
^ how queer it was that he should want to see Mr. 
Arnold, and could it be that the counterfeit bill af- 
fair was not settled yet % his appearance became an 
event, and one of considerable magnitude. A por- 
tentous one, when, five minutes thereafter, Mr. Ar- 
nold looked out of his ofifice-door and beckoned a 
messenger, who forthwith notified Miss Rowland 
that slie was wanted. 

She started and changed color visibly — all agreed 


92 


PHEMIE^8 TEMPTATION. 


in observing — when the message was delivered, and 
most of the spectators were properly scandalized at 
the pretence of equanimity she immediately recov- 
ered — actually wiping her pen, laying it upon the 
rack ; closing her inkstand and shutting up her day- 
book, the blotting-paper carefully adjusted between 
the leaves, before she stepped from her dais, with her 
queenly step and carriage, and walked up the empty 
aisle, unmindful, or disdainful of the fact that every 
eye was upon her. 

“ Ah ! Miss Rowland ! Here you are ! ” nodded 
Mr. Arnold, patronizingly, from his elbow-chair, as 
she presented herself in the counting-room. 

His companion had his back to the door, and 
springing up at this announcement, showed Phemie 
Mr. Hart’s features, surprised, apologetic, and more 
embarrassed than the occasion seemed to demand. 
He set a chair for her, and she declined it with a 
silent bow, looking to Mr. Arnold for an explanation 
of the message that had brought her hither. 

‘‘ Zenobia in chains ! ” mentally ejaculated .Mr. 
Hart, at sight of her unintentional ; the haughty 
humility of her erect head and respectful attitude, in 
the presence of her superior officer ; the attentive, 
inquiring eyes, and the pressure of the short upper 
lip upon its fuller fellow. 

“ Yes ; take a seat ! ” said Mr. Arnold, graciously. 
“Ltook the liberty of sending for her, Mr. Hart, 
without asking your — ah — permission, because I like 
to rectify a mistake fully and — ah — handsomely while 
I am about it, and lest this should slip my mind — we 


PEEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


93 


gentlemen of business have so many things to think 
of that one crowds out another, as I need not say to 
you.^ Mr. Hart — I — ah — thought it expedient to at- 
tend to this little affair at once and without delay. 
Mr. Hart, Miss Eowland, has kindly stepped in to 
say that having learned incidentally — as I — ^ah — am 
glad to understand. Miss Eowland — I should have 
been seriously displeased and mortified had he gained 
his information from any person^ in my employ. Miss 
t Eowland, regarding it — ah — as a point of sacred 
honor that my employees should not divulge the pri- 
vate affairs of this establishment — having learned, as 
I remarked, incidentally and accidentally, that cen- 
sure has been — ah — cast upon you, Miss Eowland, on 
account of your summary — ah — declinature of a cer- 
tain bank-note tendered by Miss Mallory, upon a cer- 
tain day in last month, he — Mr. Hart — has gener- 
ously put himself to the trouble of coming in to — ah 
— exculpate you frona the charge of improper or un- 
ladylike conduct upon that occasion. I am gratified to 
hear. Miss Eowland, that your behavior to Miss Mal- 
lory was respectful and your language less objection- 
able than I was, at first, given to understand ” — 

“ Excuse me ! ” interposed Mr. Hart, whose vary- 
ing expression from the beginning of the harangue 
to this clause would have been a diverting study to 
an impartial bystander. ‘‘Since Miss Eowland is 
here, allow me to repeat briefly in her hearing the 
statement I made to yourself ! ” 

Fhemie had not availed herself of her employer’s 
permission to sit down, and Mr. Hart likewise re- 


94 


FEEMIE'B TEMPTATION. 


mained standing. He faced her, now, bending his 
head deferentially, while his look and tone were de- 
precating. 

It has reached my ears, indirectly, as Mr. Ar- 
nold has stated, that he had received a garbled ac- 
count of the transaction to which he refers. Con- 
sidering myself, in some sort, bound to set him right, 
since I was a participant in the affair, I dropped in* 
to assure him that no offence had been given or 
taken. The note, which I retain, is , undeniably # 
spurious, and you would have been called purblind 
had you not detected this at a glance. How the 
impression got abroad that Miss Mallory was wounded 
by anything that passed here at the time mentioned, 

I cannot imagine. All was fair, business-like, and 
polite. It never entered my head ’’ — with his ready, 
pleasant laugh — ‘‘ to make so formal a matter of a 
trifle as to request your attendance during this in- 
terview. Had I surmised that Mr. Arnold had sent 
for you, I should have protested strenuously against 
troubling you.” 

“ Oh ! that is of no consequence, I assure you, 
my good sir ! ” Mr. Arnold hastened to say, with an 
oily smile. 

I^e was a fat man, who held his head very far back 
and his chest very far forward, and had a way of 
joining his finger-tips when he talked, and who 
loved to hear the rumble of his own swelling periods 
better than any other sound, except the chink of 
gold and the rustle of crisp treasury notes. Miss 
Howland is used to the discipline of a well-ordered 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


95 


establishment, and I take pleasure in saying, Mr. 
Hart, that — ah — in the main, I may say uniformly 
— her manner of discharging the duties of her place 
is — ah — exemplary. I had no doubt, even while I 
questioned the expediency of her action with regard 
to Miss Mallory — or rather whether her manner had 
been — ah — altogether judicious — I had no. doubt, 
meanwhile, that she meant well. But, as I had oc- 
casion to remind her, when I — ah — gently reproved 
^ her for her brusqueness — such I conceived her fault 
or indiscretion to have been — as I said t<fcier, sir — 
manner goes as far in this world as principle.” 

“ I should be loath to admit that,” said Mr. Hart. 
“ Although, were it true. Miss Rowland would have as 
little to apprehend as any one I know. Miss Mal- 
lory, I wish you both to understand, will sustain me 
in this assertion. Your brother is better, your friend 
Miss Darcy tells me,” he subjoined to Phemie, in a 
more familiar, but still very respectful tone. 

He is ! ” Phemie could not have articulated an- 
other syllable without relaxing the iron rein she held 
over herself. 

A pause 'ensued, awkward as the rest of the scene 
had been to two of those engaged in it. 

Phemie concentrated her forces. “ Have you any- 
thing more to say to me, sir?” she queried of Mr. 
Arnold, as a drilled butler might ask his orders for 
the day. 

“ I believe not. Miss Rowland. I think she com- 
prehends us now, Mr. Hart ! I do not regret — ah — - 
upon the whole, that this trivial misunderstanding 


96 


PEEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


has arisen. It may — it will, I trust, be a lesson, a — 
ah — moral guide-board to you for the future. You 
can return to your desk. Miss Rowland.” 

Phemie grew an inch taller in turning to Mr. 
Hart. “ I thank you for your kindness, sir ! ” 

She would have departed, then, with a bow to 
both, but the latter gentleman laid his hand upon 
the door. “ I cannot let you go without gainsaying 
the idea that you are under any obligation to Miss 
Mallory or myself. I have performed a simple act of # 
justice, ^ou, or any other conscientious person, 
would 'do the like for me. I am heartily ashamed 
of having said so much about a trifle — a mere noth- 
ing. The only reparation you can make us for the 
regret we feel at having unwittingly caused you an- 
noyance is to forget the whole transaction as fast as 
you can. Good-afternoon ! ” He unclosed the door, 
and bowed her out. 

When she had had time to regain her position at 
her desk, he followed in her footsteps, raising his 
hat in passing her, although her eyes were bent upon 
her reopened book. One of the bolder of her fellow- 
workwomen — the young lady who had shirked the 
task of enlightening Miss Mallory with respect to the 
character of the $20 bill — ^presently sidled up to her, 
her curiosity boiling over. 

What'did he want with you ? ” 

“ Who ? ” Phemie raised her eyes. They were 
heavy-lidded, but they stared the catechist full in 
the face. 

‘‘Mr. Hartl” 


PIIEMIB'S TEMPTATION. 


97 


“He didn’t want me.” 

“ Who did, then ? Who sent for you ? ” 

“ Mr. Arnold.” 

“ Oh ! But Mr. Hart was in there, all the time, 
wasn’t he ? ” 

“ There was a gentleman in the office who called 
to see Mr. Arnold, I believe.” 

“ You didn’t know him, then ? He is Mr. Hart, 
the publisher — firm of Mallory & Hart. He is go- 
ing to marry Miss Clara Mallory. That was him 
with her the day you got into that ft^jis with her. 
It’s funny you didn’t remember him. We had 
a notion — Amy Jaynes and I — that he called to 
talk to Mr. Arnold about that, and that you were catch- 
ing it again. The story has got abroad all over town. 
Did you ever know so much ado about nothing, as 
that conceited minx has made over what she had 
ought to be ashamed to speak of? If I was caught 
passing counterfeit money, I wouldn’t be the one 
to trumpet it everywhere. People wouldn’t judge 
poor girls like us as charitably as they do her, 
neither. You say Mr. Hart didn’t come to take up 
her quarrel ? ” 

“He did not.” 

“ He is a handsome fellow, and they say making 
money fast, besides being very. smart, very learned, 
and intelligent. She isn’t over-stocked with brains, 
I should judge from her face. She is going to do 
well. They are to be married this fall. She has be- 
gun to get her wedding outfit already.” 

Phemie turned a leaf, and took another penful of ink. 


98 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


‘^Lucj Harris!” called one of her companions, 
impatient to learn the result of her investigations, 
and the bookkeeper was left in her former isolation. 

The wind had not abated when the store was clos- 
ed, and Phemie started for home. The sharp flint- 
dust torn up from the pavements made her eyes 
smart and her face tingle ; the roistering gale twist- 
ed her skirts about her feet until she could hardly 
stagger onward, and fought with her for the posses- 
sion of her shawl. Miss Darcy should have chosen 
the evenings for a promenade, if she liked weather 
that gave one something to do while he was walking. 
Phemie’s frame of mind was the reverse of enjoy- 
ment. She had spirit, as her friend had stated, yet 
she was seldom irritable. When her temper explod- 
ed, it was under great provocation, and it went ofi* 
with a concussion that made clean work of all that 
stood in the way, whereas, your irritable man, or 
“nervous” woman, spits, and flzzes, and sighs, like 
a train of wet gunpowder. She was not up to the 
going-oft* point, to-night. She 'had been very angry 
— dangerously near speaking out her mind fully and 
strongly, while the sluggish channel of Mr. Arnold’s 
talk meandered among such rocks as “improper 
and unladylike conduct,” and affirmations that her 
demeanor to Clara Mallory had been “respectful” 
and her language “not objectionable.” Her tongue 
ached to tell him that she was disgusted with the 
whole subject, and above all other things pertaining 
to it, with himself. That Clara Mallory had as 
slender claims to the name of lady as he had to that 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


99 


of a gentleman, with much more that was unsea- 
soned and unseasonable. Mr. Hart’s tact and kind- 
ness had saved her from the pitfall opening at her 
feet. She had time, during his address, to peer 
down into its depths, and to recoil from the vision of 
the ills she had nearly brought upon her home-circle. 
For herself, she said, desperately, she did not care. 
She would as soon sink as swim, since floating was 
such weary, w^eary work. A cynical fatalism had 
paralyzed Faith, as repeated discouragements had 
stifled Hope. 

‘‘ One gains so little by struggling ! ” she was say- 
ing, as she turned the corner of a street in which the 
winds from every quarter and of every name seemed 
to have been poured, -bolus’s bag turned upside 
down, in fact, so flercely did they tear, and shriek, 
and rave up and down, and across from either side 
of the broad thoroughfare, given up, for the time, 
to its nocturnal revels. 

She stopped under a lamp-post to get the breath 
which had been snatched from her lungs by the first 
gust, and just at that instant a carriage passed. She 
had a glimpse of Clara Mallory on the back seat, 
with flow’ers in her hair and a white opera-cloak over 
her shoulders, then a gentleman leaned past her to 
draw up the glass. It was Mr. Hart. She recog- 
nized the oval face and the sweeping beard as 
quickly and truly as if they had belonged to her 
lover, and not to another woman’s. 

Her lover ! Pshaw I What business had she 
with such a thought? Like the rest of Heaven’s 


100 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


choice gifts, love and lovers were the portion of the 
rich and indolent ; the favorites of the Fates, those 
who had but to sit still and let blessings be rained 
into their laps. When the poor married, it was that 
they might be less poor — in their accepted phrase, 
better themselves.” -It would be a sorry change, 
indeed, that did not better her ! 

Astronomical calculations, if one were so foolish 
or so knowledge-mad as to attempt them that evening, 
would have been prosecuted under very disadvan- 
tageous circumstances, the visible heavens looking 
as if all the dust hurled upward during the day had 
lodged there, and the housewifely habits of the old 
woman who was tossed up in a blanket, had met 
with no imitators in the upper circle. The planets 
blinked fast and hard, like eyes with cinders in them, 
and like them, too, occasionally shut up altogether 
for a minute or two, while the lesser lights only 
emitted a struggling ray every four or five minutes. 
But there is excellent reason for believing that, for 
this one hour at least,'Joe Bonney’s lucky star was 
in the ascendant, and that it was this propitious in- 
fluence which brought him around the corner at such 
an angle that he had a view of Phemie’s face while 
the lamp-rays were upon it. 

“Miss Phemie!” he ejaculated, in mingled de- 
light at the meeting, and concern at her probable 
discomfort. “ This is a very disagreeable night for 
'a lady to be out. I was just going up to your house. 
May I walk along with jmu ? ” 

“ If you like,” said Phemie, laconically. “ The 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 101 

wind is very disagreeable ! ” she was constrained to 
add, as a tj-emendons buffet upon her shoulders made 
her. stop a second time to recover her equilibrium. 

“ Won’t you take my arm ? Bo! ” entreated Joe, 
backing up manfully against the squall. 

It would be less ludicrous than staggering along 
separately and jostling each other, at every third step, 
Phemie concluded, and she accepted his offer. Joe 
was of slender build, and no athlete, but he sustained 
the shocks of the blast, after this conjunction of 
forces, in a manner that shed credit upon his will 
and his ability to take his own part and that of his 
companion against the adverse winds of March or 
Fortune. He was a muscular Gibraltar in resisting 
odds that nearly swept Phemie away. 

“ Suppose we turn up that cross street ! ” she sug- 
gested, at length. “ It is narrower, and more shel- 
tered than the one we are in. We ought to be able 
to walk with comparative comfort under the lee of 
those tall houses.” 

Joe assented. Hot that I mind the wind a bit,” 
lie said, more gayly than he was accustomed to speak 
in her hearing. “ But, as you say, those buildings 
ought to keep off some of it.” 

You breast the stornxjwell ! ” Pliemie next re- 
marked, for the sake of saying something. He was 
very considerate and attentive, and she was not in 
the mood to be ungracious to anything that liked 
her, or showed her kindness. So she aroused herself 
a little to entertain him. The fight with the wind 
had bereft her of the remnant of strength and viva- 


102 


PEEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


city left after the day's strife and duties. She was 
languid and tremulous when they gained the lee of 
the long row of lofty houses, quite willing to walk 
slowly, and making more use of Joe’s ai‘m than she 
was aware of. 

■ ‘‘ Do I ? ” he replied to her careless compliment. 
He was tremulous, too — with delight. “ It is easy 
to bear any storm when I am with you ! ” 

The telling first step was taken, the plunge over, 
after which the most icy shower-bath is nothing, or 
next to nothing. 

He went on very fast. “I should be a very dif- 
ferent person — stronger, better, happier, if this could 
always be, Phemie. Don’t draw your hand away. 
I must talk to you about it. I know I am not your 
equal. I never saw the man — or woman, eitlier, for 
that matter — who was. I have loved you for four 
years as I never loved anybody else, as I don’t believe 
anybody else will, or can love you. It’s worship, 
out and out. That’s what it is! I don’t expect 
you to feel the same for me. It isn’t in the nature 
of things that you should. But if you would only 
tell me that I might keep on loving you, and let me 
serve you besides — ^live for you and take care of you 
and Albert and your mother ! I can see you are 
working yourself to death, and it pretty nearly kills 
me to know it. Let me help you, Phemie ! I can 
do it easily. I am not rich, but I am getting on well 
in business. I can give you a nice little home, now, 
and ma^be, by and by, a handsome one, and you 
shall live like the real lady "you are. I am not a 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


103 


scholar or a student, and you are; but you shall have 
all the books you want, and plenty of time to study 
them. The more of that sort of thing you do, the 
^ prouder I shall be of you. I wonjt tease you for an 
answer now. I am afraid I know what it would be, 
if you were to give it, without considering what I 
have said. For my part, 1 have thought of it, day 
and night, until I have dared to hope that, if you 
ever could be brought to understand how much I 
love you, and how near your happiness lies to my 
heart, you might learn to like me. It does seem to 
me that something ought to be accomplished by love 
so strong as mine, and love that has lasted so long ! ” 

He clioked up here, and shook from head to foot, 
as he had not quivered in the rudest gusts they had 
encountered in the wider street they had left. 

Phemie was dumb. Astonishment at his vehe- 
mence was primarily tinged with anger at his pre- 
sumption, but before he finished his confession, both 
feelings gave way before a gusli of pity and softness 
she might well hesitate to betray. His was love — 
ardent, honest, and tried. She believed him when 
he named it worship ; believed, without the uprising 
of contempt she had expressed to Olive, who had 
always stood his friend. Perhaps her sister was 
nearer right than herself in her estimate of his 
character. She would be just to him so far as to 
reverence his generous readiness to assume the sup- 
port of her mother and helpless brother. Their wel- 
fare — a home and comfortable subsistence would be 
secured by her marriage with Joe Bonney, and what 


104 PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 

had she to live for besides the hope of caring for 
them? She believed her suitor, furthermore, 'when 
he promised her the leisure and means for prosecu- 
ting the studies she loved, and wdiich she could not 
now pursue. Had she not decided, awhile ago, that 
the privations of the poor meant more than physical 
needs? that those who were destined to walk the 
pavements alone, after dark, on stormy, as on fine 
nights, while others, no younger and no fairer, rolled 
by in luxurious chariots guarded by love against the 
chance 'of discomfort or alarm, must, in the very 
consistency of appointed dispensations, forego other 
delights which were tlie prerogatives of carriage 
beauties? The worker on the pa-vement would like 
to have a surplus of money, fine clothes, and a beau- 
tiful home. Since these were not hers, philosophy 
and religion joined in bidding her content herself 
with such things as she had. Was not the principle 
applicable, likewise, to the formation of matrimonial 
ties ? 

This man was many removes — how many she 
would not trust herself to remember — from- her ideal 
lord and master. But the ideal was not attainable ; 
perchance had never had a being, except in a girl’s 
lush fancy. If he were a resident of the next block 
to her own, the probability was that he would never 
vouchsafe her a glance or thought, whereas, she was 
Joe’s divinity, and there was a spice of comfort in 
the thought that she was anybody’s divinity, after 
the slights and indignities, and, most offensive of all, 
the patronage to which she had been subjected of late. 


PHEMIW8 TEMPTATION. 


105 


They had walked several blocks while these fan- 
cies and arguments tore through her mind with the 
speed and force of the wind. It was a crisis in her 
existence, and she knew it. It had overtaken her at 
a moment when she was incompetent to decide any 
question rationally, and she did not lose sight of 
this. Everything conspired to sway her in one di- 
rection. The chill and loneliness of the night ; 
hunger and fatigue; her solicitude respecting Char-, 
lotte; Albert’s hopeless blindness; the uncertain 
tenure by which she felt she held her situation ; 
even the glimpse she had had of her former friend 
and her fiance — tended to enhance the attractions 
of the snug home offered her, and the release from 
labors which were both servile and poorly compen- 
sated. 

They were beyond the sheltering buildings, and 
again in a broad thoroughfare much frequented by 
night, as well as by day, when the weather was tol- 
erable. Phemie must speak. Civility required it, 
if she were not prompted by regard for her wooer’s 
feelings, the desire to lessen the weight of his sus- 
pense. 

“I was totally unprepared for this,” she began, 
in a tone so husky and strained that she paused to 
change the key. 

At that instant a woman came down the sidewalk 
toward them, and they swerved to let her pass. 
She eyed them openly and curiously, as they met, 
and Phemie could not avoid seeing her distinctly. 
She wore a gay velvet hat, with a flaunting feather ; 

5 * 


106 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


a silk dress that trailed upon the pavement, a light 
cloak, fitting tightly to a full bust and slender waist. 
Pier eyes were bold as her walk, which was some- 
thing between a strut and a slide, and her mouth 
was set in a smile, false and fixed as were the roses 
on her hollow cheeks. 

Womanhood, unperverted by worldly or vicious 
teachings, is a safe and ready guide, and Phemie’s 
was prompt with her lesson. 

“Where would be the difference between her and 
the unloving wife, bought with the lure of a home 
and an easy livelihood?” interrogated the Mentor. 
“Is it virtue, or an empty prejudice of society, that 
distinguishes the one from the other? Honest pov- 
erty — legalized infamy — these are your alternatives.” 

Phemie held up her head, as she could never have 
lifted it as Joe Bonney’s perjured wife. “ Do not 
think me ungrateful for your generous kindness ; for 
the honor done me by your love ; for your unselfish 
forgetfulness of the weight of the burdens you are 
ready to assume for my sake. But I cannot marry 
you. I will be frank as yourself. Hothing but mis- 
ery could result from a union where there was not 
love on both sides. And I do not love you. The 
probability is that I shall never marry.* I have long 
accustomed myself to believe this. If we would be 
friends for the future, this subject had better not 
be referred to again by either of us. I should be 
sorry to know that you could ever be anything less 
than my friend. You can never be more.” 

Joe had pulled his hat forward upon his eyebrows. 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATIOR. 


107 


and Phemie felt the rise and fall of his chest against 
the wrist resting within his arm ; heard a queer 
sound, like a strangled “cluck,” in his throat. 

It is undignified and babyish for a man to cry be- 
cause his love is refused. Yet no one calls those 
weak tears that escape the father’s eyes beside the 
grave of his first-born. Joe was burying his love in 
hot haste, because Phemie had commanded it — as 
who had a better right to do ? She ruled him in 
this as in everything else. Had she married him, 
she would have become the keeper of his conscience 
— of the archives of thought and feeling, as well as 
the arbiter of his actions. We need no seer to point 
out the numerous train of ills that would have en- 
sued from this unnatural state of things, this total 
reverse of the laws that should obtain in well-ordered 
households. Phemie was a truer friend to Joe than 
the love-blinded youth ever supposed — a benefactress, 
who saved him, by her timely negative, from an ig- 
nominious fate. The proverbial ingratitude of short- 
sighted mortals is the only explanation of the cir- 
cumstance that he Suffered intensely under the kindly 
operation, and was disposed, after the fashion of 
weak-minded swains, to curse his stars, and wish, 
firstly, that he had never been born ; secondly, that 
he had stayed at home on this particular night, the 
influence of his natal planet to the contrary notwith- 
standing ; thirdly and lastly, and chiefly — that he 
were dead. That was — if he could only expire 
quietly in some retired street, and be buried without 
a coroner’s inquest or newspaper notice, so that 


108 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


Phemie should not hear what had become of him, or 
accuse herself of having hurried him to his untimely 
end. 

Mark ! he did not wish for the fifteen -millionth 
part of a second that he had never known and loved 
her. Still less did he desire that she might endure 
one pang like the least of those that were riving his 
heart. In these respects he proved himself to be 
yet more feeble of intellect and abject in spirit than 
he had done by sobbing over her calm and kindly 
rejection of his suit. 

They reached the foot of Mrs. Rowland’s steps. 
They were a wooden flight, and Joe recollected, with 
a despairing thrill, the three snowy marble ones 
conducting to the also snow-white portal of his two- 
story-brick in the air. The end of their uncomfortable 
walk was here, and this miserable business must be 
wound up for good (or bad) and all. 

‘‘ I might have foreseen what was to be the end of 
all my foolish hopes,” said he, as Phemie withdrew her 
hand from his arm. “ You couldn’t have acted difler- 
ently. I can see it all now, plain enough. You needn’t 
be afraid of my bothering you ever again about the 
matter. I don’t want that you should come to dislike 
me, outright. I’ll not speak to you of love after this, 
but as to stopping caring for you, you musn’t ask that. 
Unless I was to stop breathing! which” — with a pa- 
thos of pain that touched Phemie strangely — “ would 
be the best and most comfortable thing all around for 
me to do in the circumstances ! ” 

‘‘You shall not say that!” Phepaie fingers slid into 


PEEMIWS TEMPTATION. 


109 


his in unthinking and sisterly compassion. “You 
have a work to do in life, and you will be very use- 
ful and happy some day.” 

“ Maybe so. If I ever have a chance to do any- 
thing to make you happy, I may grow to be content- 
ed. I won’t keep yon standing in the cold. Let 
me ring the bell for you ! Good-night ! I am not 
fit to meet any of them, just yet. Don’t fret over 
what you have done. You’ve been kind and honor- 
able, I respect you more than I ever did before. 
Good-by ! ” 

Phemie sent a pitying look after him. He was 
like his cousin Seth — tall and angular. The speci- 
ality of the family, physically, seemed to be angles, 
as many and as sharp as the human frame was ca- 
pable of displaying. J oe “ clumped ” in his gait ; his 
coat did not fit his figure, and it was not the tailor’s 
fault that it hung in ungraceful folds. Phemie could 
not imagine him arrayed in chain armor, or steel- 
plated corslet and greaves, visor down, clasping his 
steed with his mailed knees and careering like a wliirl- 
wind against his opponent, to establish her claim as 
Queen of Love and Beauty, on the day of the Tourna- 
ment, but she said, within her aching heart, while her 
eyes filled with tears, that not many of the world’s 
knighted heroes carried within their bosoms such 
wealth of true and gentle chivalry. 




CHAPTER YI. 


“That Care and Trial seem at last, 

Through Mem’ry’s sunset air, 

Like mountain-ranges overpast. 

In purple distance fair. ^ 

That all the jarring notes of Life 
Seem blending in a psalm ; 

And all the angles of its strife 
Slow rounding into calm. 

And so the shadows fall apart. 

And so the west winds play ; 

And all the vdndows of my heart 
I open to the day.” 

HUS recited Phemie Rowland, sitting upon 
a gray rock, carpeted with lichens and 
brambles, and forming the nigged front of 
a hill that overlooked the country surround- 
ing the Darcy homestead. 

The farm-house was full, that sunny August. 
Phemie bad engaged board there for Charlotte, and 
Miss Darcy for Albert, from the middle of July to 
the first of September. Charlotte’s scruples to this 
arrangement were overcome by the representations 
of her sister and her friend, setting forth the neces- 





PHEMIE'S- TEMPTATION. 


Ill 


sity that Albert should have an attendant, and the 
impossibility of Phemie’s obtaining a furlough from 
her desk duties of sufficient length for her to under- 
take the office of 'custodian. Thither, too, came Miss 
Darcy, early in August, and, in response to her in- 
vitation, while resolutely insisting upon entering 
herself as a paid boarder, Phemie joined the circle, a 
fortnight later. 

Mr. Arnold allowed each of his employees a vaca- 
tion in the dull season — average duration one week ; 
but, ‘‘in consideration of Miss Powland’s zealous ap- 
plication to business during the past twelve months,” 
and the fact that the season was unusually quiet — it 
might be said to be fast asleep — he granted her leave 
of absence for ten days. Mrs. Rowland had been 
out of town since June, visiting relatives of her own 
and some of her husband’s, in her native State. 
She was not needed at home while the family was so 
small,’ she argued, and she grew younger and strong- 
er, more forgetful of the sorrows of her widowhood, 
more tenderly alive to the memories of her happy 
youth, each day of her sojourn among the scenes of 
her early life. In her decent, well-kept weeds, she 
looked and felt the lady in her association with ac- 
quaintances who had not witnessed the meanness of 
her home ; were not privy to the secrets of the pinch- 
ing, saving, and turning that entered into the 
method of her existence there. The Seth Mandells 
were also rusticating in a village connected with the 
town by rail, and near enough to allow the husband 
and father to keep an eye upon his fleshly treasures. 


112 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


It ‘was Seth Junior’s second summer, and the season 
was a trying one for babies. Hence their Hegira. 

Phemie and Olive were not lonely or idle during 
the heated term. Mr. Arnold trumpeted, with ‘in- 
finite pomp and circumstance, the humanity that 
impelled him to set the example of closing his estab- 
lishment at seven o’clock on the long, hot afternoons, 
when nobody came to buy ; when his stock boasted 
nothing but styles three months old, if buyers had 
been numerous, and when the useless consumption 
of gas through the evening would have been worse 
than a dead loss. Without stopping to question or 
to praise his motives for the measure, Phemie re- ' 
joiced in the leisure it afforded her for the work she 
had undertaken at Miss Darcy’s instance. She 
would hurry home through the summer sunsets to 
the 'supper punctual Olive had ready by the time she 
could lay aside her hat, and, indifferent to the in- 
viting influences of star-lit heavens and cool night 
breezes, settle herself at her desk before the twilight 
changed from purple to gray. 

Olive had her associates and her pleasures. 
Moonlight excursions by land and upon the water 
were in vogue that year, and she never said “Hay,” 
when her young friends solicited her attendance 
upon these. Phemie was too happy at her work to 
miss her, and there was no sense in moping at home 
when one might be enjoying herself abroad. 

Phemie yielded a hearty assent to this proposition. 
She was easier in mind when Olive was off, walking, 
riding, and boating, in company that might not be 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


113 


particularly refined ; which was the reverse of aris- 
tocratic, but which was merry, perfectly respectable, 
and decorous. She could give herself up to her 
studies, then, with no remorseful fears lest her sister 
might be ennuyee by her silence and abstraction. 
Her conversational treatise progressed famously. 
She worked at it with a will that was soon delight. 
When finished, she dared hope it would satisfy her 
publishers, and almost herself. 

The first call Mr. Hart paid after Albert’s resto- 
ration to comparative health had reference to this, 
and it furnished the ample apology for many more. 
There were other treatises and text-books to be con- 
sulted in tlie preparation of hers, and these he sup- 
plied as fast as she required them — faster — for he 
often brought volumes of which she had never heard, 
upon the remote possibility that she might cull a 
fact, an experiment, or theory from tlieir pages. 
Professional interest in her undertaking may have 
been the basis of his anxiety lest incessant applica- 
tion should injure her health. He imagined that 
her color was fading — that her form was less full— 
and he expressed something of this solicitude to the 
object of it. She met his fears with a laugh, the 
glad ring of which did not allay his fears, and he 
cast about for means of relieving the strain upon 
mind and body. 

Upon two balmy evenings, when the air was 
steeped in perfume and moonbeams, a carriage drew 
up to the door, with a note from Mr. Hart request- 
ing the sisters to use it as if it were their own, and. 


PEEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


IM 

a week later, he came in person to invite them to 
share a long drive with him. More than once, 
more than thrice, the publisher had persuaded his 
interesting employee" to. walk with him for an hour 
before the evening’s labor commenced — their saunter 
lying beside the swift river, or in the spacious pub- 
lic parks, where the murmur of fountains mingled 
with the laughter of children, and where both forgot 
the unfinished MS. and talked less of chemistry than 
of poetiy. 

Perhaps, . however, their pleasantest interviews 
were in the small back parlor, now used b}^ Phemie 
as a library and study,’ and furnished with extreme 
simplicity. The floor was covered with straw mat- 
ting ; there was an old easy chair draped with white 
dimity ; a cherry-wood writing-desk, and, against 
the wall at one end, an ancient book case, overflow- 
ing with the remnants of a once noble library ; a 
high chair on which Phemie sat to write, and a 
darkly- purple heliotrope in the solitary window. Over 
this last Olive had trained morning-glories and Ma- 
deira vines, and there "was always, after nightfall, a 
breeze from the river to set these to whispering and 
dancing. The publisher liked luxury, and not even 
a hermit could have objected to the appointments of 
this tiny sanctum as luxurious ; yet when he — the 
publisher, not the eremite — leaned back lazily in the 
old elbow-chair, and surveyed the grand creature 
opposite him, her neat print-dress setting off her 
beauty, as the plainest setting often best reveals the 
glory of the gem ; heard her round, pure tones in 


PEEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


115 


earnest debate, animated description, or, dreamily 
thoughtful, blending with the song of the leaves, he 
was entranced into a midsummer-night’s dream that 
left no place in his thoughts for imaginings of other 
enjoyments. It was a dangerous fascination, as he 
discovered when Miss Darcy rushed up to the city in 
response to the incautious intimation in one of his 
letters to the effect that “ our friend. Miss Euphemia, 
is overwrought, I fear. She is hardly so plump and 
rosy as when you left us.” 

The indomitable spinster stayed not after tin's to 
parley with him or any one else, but carried off her 
prize a hundred miles back into the country, and 
left him to review at his leisure the charming dia- 
logues that had been the staple of his joys for the 
last month. 

If there had likewise been peril to Phemie in this 
intimacy, she was not aware of it as yet. ' 01i\^e had 
invited a lively young friend to stay with her until 
her mother’s return ; Charlotte was improving in 
health and strength ; Albert was robust from the 
bountiful supply of rural delicacies that loaded Dame 
Darcy’s board, and his four weeks’ life in the open 
air, and cheerful beyond what had been Phemie’s 
most sanguine expectations. Her MS. had been 
completed the day before she left home, and placed 
in Mr. Hart’s hands, and, encircled by Miss Darcy’s 
loving care, as by a wall that kept off baleful airs 
from the outer world, the girl ‘‘crossed her tired 
wrists,” and rested. 

Kested and dreamed — fancies bright, rare, and 


116 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


sweet, that made fair day the fairer, and filled the 
fragrant nights with music! She ripened in the 
August sunshine like the richest peach that hung, a 
globe of crimson and gold, from the loaded boughs 
of the farmer’s orchard. If excess of thought and 
pen-labor had diminished in any degree her vitality, 
now that the weight was removed, her whole nature 
came up wdth a bound. She was better than a 
forest full of thrushes for music, the farmer aflirmed ; 
bright as the first sunbeam of the morning, and 
fleet-footed as a hare. Before she had been a week 
in his house she knew every nook of his farm as well 
as he did ; she could milk, churn, row, and fish, and 
was the favorite of everything on the place, from the 
farmer and his help-meet to the Juno-eyed oxen, 
which she pampered with bunches of clover-hay 
while they were ploughing, and the month-old duck- 
lings •who ran, piping their shrill ‘‘ queek ” at her 
heels whenever she crossed the lawn. 

On this afternoon she was one of a berry ing-party, 
and had wandered away from the rest to the brow 
of Graytop Hill, the highest eminence in the neigh- 
borhood, and a landmark for many miles around. 
Her basket of berries was upon the ground beside 
her ; her straw hat upon her knee ; her dress of buff 
chintz harmonized well with the russet and gray 
mosses and the deep-green runners of the creepers 
trailing over her seat. Her color was glowing ; her 
eyes were softly luminous, and, alone and unseen as 
she believed hei-self to be, there was about her figure 
the indescribable, but marked pride and grace which 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


117 


were the expression of conscious strength— force of 
resolve and mind that was always ready, never ram- 
pant, unconquerable, but never belligerent. 

• As she repeated aloud the concluding stanzas of her 
psalm,” the tangled branches of a thicket twenty feet 
to the right were carefully parted, and a face looked 
through— at first laughingly, then, as she relapsed 
into a silent, happy reverie, earnestly to wistfulness. 

Had the west winds no voice for him? Did no 
unseen warder of the woodside temple bar the in- 
truder from profaning her retreat with hasty footstep 
or passionate speech ? Would he not do well to hold 
counsel with his conscience touching the wisdom and 
mercy of breaking up, or diverting a stream so calmly 
bright as were her maiden musings, by the outpour- 
ings of a love that had scattered to the winds the 
ramparts of worldly policy and prejudice, behind 
which he had believed his heart secure from the se- 
ductions of charms he confessed, from the date of 
their first interview, he had never seen surpassed? 
For Robert Hart had come to this sequestered farm- 
house with the design of making this avowal. His 
primal emotion; upon discovering that Miss Darcy 
had borne oflT his gay spirits and his peace of mind, 
when she separated him from Phemie, had been one 
of surpriseful consternation. He was angry with 
himself for his short-sightedness and imprudence in 
having risked his afiections carelessly, while, he de- 
luded cautious Reason with tales of disinterested 
pity and the desire to encourage modest genius. He 
was more angry that he liad lost these valuable atfec- 


118 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


tions irretrievably to a girl whose rank was lower 
than his own, and whose beauty, talent, and intrinsic 
nobility of character would not be accepted by his 
world as an offset to the glaring ineligibilities of the 
alliance. His face burned and his self-love withered 
at thought of the comments that would follow the 
announcement of his entanglement; of the sneers 
and shrugs, and covert gibes and indignant sarcasms 
which his most esteemed friends would direct at 
them both. He easily convinced himself that the 
blush and wince were for Phemie’s sake. Had he 
the right — would it be manly, or just, or kind, to ex- 
pose her to these ? 

He fought Love and Longing with Common Sense 
and Policy, thus, every day, from sunrise to dusk, 
and the return of each evening found him as very a 
slave to his new and master emotion as had the pre- 
ceding, ready to barter the esteem of his peers ; to 
brave the insults of a city full, a continent full of 
such, for one look into Phemie’s starry eyes ; one 
love-word from her lips ; one hour of communion 
with her — the world forgetting, by the world for- 
got ” — in the study with the vine-draped window. 
A week of struggle and doubt, and his choice was 
made. He might not be quite comfortable should 
he win this woman. He would be utterly wretched 
without her. There might be thorns upon the stem 
of this royal rose, but he must have it. When he 
should wear it in his bosom, perhaps its loveliness 
and sweetness would beguile him into forgetfulness 
of prick and smart. 

% 


PHEMmS TEMPTATION. 


119 


He came, accordingly, and arriving at the home- 
stead soon after the departure of the berry-seekers, 
was directed to follow in their route. The flutter 
of Phemie’s dress caught his eye, as he halted in 
bewilderment at the foot of the hill, and he climbed 
it by a shorter and steeper path than that which she 
had taken. 

‘‘ Shall I be accounted a shadow, I wonder ? ” he 
said, emerging from his covert, and approaching her. 

He had his answer in the flash of ingenuous trans- 
port that brightened her eyes to dazzling ; in the 
impulsive start toward him and the warm flood that 
bathed her face. 

“Is it really yourself?” she exclaimed, when he 
pressed her hands between his, and would have 
thanked her for her welcome. “ It is very kind in 
you to turn aside from the main line of travel to 
look in upon us in our seclusion. Have you seen 
Miss Darcy, or Albert ? How did you know we 
were abroad among the hills ? ” 

“ I have seen nobody since I left the stage, except 
the good folk at the farm — and yourself,” he added, 
leading her back to her seat. “ If I had had my wish 
in the matter, our meeting should have been here 
and thus, in preference to all other places and cir- 
cumstances. I came all the way from the city to see 
you, Fhemie ! ” 

Her color flickered, and she looked alarmed. 

“ What is the matter? Didn’t the manuscript 
please you ? Is it a failure ? ” 

“ Nothing you do can be anything less than a 


120 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


success,” rejoined Kobert, vexed, nevertheless, that 
her thoughts had taken this practical and profes- 
sional turn; “ The manuscript is all right, and al- 
ready in the printer's bauds. The business that 
brought me hither is of a different character, and 
very much more important — to me, at least.” 

She looked directly into his grave, and, it must be 
allowed, slightly embarrassed visage. * ‘‘ If it is any- 
thing in which I can render you the least service, 
you cannot doubt my willingness to help you. My 
sympathy and good wishes you have already.” 

Her naivete and the total absence of suspicion of 
his real meaning apparent in her words and de- 
meanor, nettled the wooer unreasonably. Women 
were generally over-ready to scent a proposal — not 
prone to receive the preface to one so coolly. He 
refreshed his resolution to declare himself in full by 
another gaze at her beauty before he recommenced. 

He took care to speak very plainly, now, and she 
understood him. There was not a drop of blood in 
her cheeks or lips as his meaning became clear to 
her, and the amazed incredulity of her eyes moved 
him to more positive protestations. Then, she 
covered her face with her hands and bowed them 
upon her knees, the swift scarlet dyeing neck and 
temples. She was trembling violently when he 
tried to lift her head, and pleaded for one word that 
should allay his suspense. But her only reply being 
a silent shudder, a new fear entered his soul. 

“ Phemie ! ” he said, in a different tone — the ac- 
cent of a wronged and disappointed man. ‘‘ Ca'a it 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


121 


be that I am mistaken in my hope that the know- 
ledge of my love is not disagreeable to you? Do 
you despise and reject it ? ” 

She showed him a countenance, strangely livid 
now, whereas it had been only pallid when he last 
beheld it. Keject your love ! ” she said, mourn- 
fully. ‘‘ If I were to tell you that the hearing of it 
was like the .surprise one knows in finding, unex- 
pectedly, a well of cool, sweet waters in a desert, I 
should convey very feebly to your mind the truth 
of what your story has been to me. But if it is rap- 
ture to see the living waters, it is madness for the 
thirsting wretch to look upon them and feel that he 
can never taste them. Oh ! why did you tell me 
this ? Why was I suffered to meet, and to know 
you ? My F ather ! this is very hard ! very bitter ! 
And I was almost happy — quite peaceful ! ” 

She sobbed aloud — wnld Weeping that confounded, 
while it pioved the observer to tenderest pity. By 
degrees, as the paroxysm died into long sighs that 
threatened to bring out the life with them from the 
tortured heart, he expressed his inability to fathom 
the reasons of her distress ; declared that her lan- 
guage was as enigmatical as it was painful to him. 

“You admit that the tale of my love is not un- 
welcome, yet in the same breath you say you can- 
not accept it — wish you had never known me ! ” he 
said, deeply aggrieved. ‘‘ I am at a loss to compre- 
hend these contradictions. Either you love me, or 
you do not. I beg you to deal candidly and ex- 
plicitly with me.’’ 

6 


122 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


Pliemie dried her eyes, and the resolute curves 
bent her lips into their wonted firmness. I be- 
lieve you when you say that you love me. But I 
never suspected it until this hour. How should I? 
I bowed to you in heart and spirit as to a noble, 
good man who had befriended me in more ways 
than I could number ; who had brought light and 
freshness into my lowly life, but who thought of me 
only as benefactors do of those they have helped and 
comforted. I was glad I had met you ; proud and 
grateful because you seemed to like me and ap- 
proved of what I thought, and said, and wrote. 
But, long ago, I put thoughts of marriage away from 
me. I was one of the wmrld’s Avorkers. The idle 
and the fortunate alone had the right to dream of 
love and home, and a sheltered life passed in pleas- 
ant service, voluntarily assumed for love’s sake. I 
have tried to be contented — tried steadily and dili- 
gently as I have striven to do other work well. 
Latterly, I have flattered m^^self that I Avas satisfied, 
and that the wider field you and Miss Darcy had 
opened for the exercise of my feAV talents would 
leave me no room for repining. I said to myself 
that the useful w^ere always the happy, and that my 
sphere of usefulness Avas large enough to fill the 
measure of my energies and desires. It Avas not an 
exalted ambition, but it Avas the brightest I had a 
right to indulge. The hope and the enjoyment of it 
seem far enough from me, now, but my duty re- 
mains unaltered. The support of my mother, and 
one <of my sisters ; the education, and, for several 


PHEMIWS TEMPTATION. 


123 


yeai*s to come, the maintenance of my brother are 
cares God has laid upon me, and I may not put 
them aside.” 

‘‘Has it occurred to you that, as my wife, you 
would still be able to help them ?” interrupted her 
companion, in tender reproach. 

“With your money? Their honest pride would 
not let them receive alms from you. My sense of 
what was due to you w^uld hinder me from tender- 
ing such relief.” 

“ They allow you to maintain them out of your 
wages.” 

“ Because they are of the same blood, and we labor 
together as one family, each contributing her share 
to the common store. I owe them much. You owe 
them nothing. I could never meet your eye without 
a blush of shame, were I to burden you with my rel- 
atives as pensioners.” 

“ It is unfair ! It is monstrous ! ” Mr. Hart ground 
his heel into the mossy earth and clenched his teeth. 
“You are to be sacrificed — youth, health, happiness 
— to their exactions and your perverted views of duty ! 
I plead for you, while I entreat you for my sake, to 
reconsider your mistaken decision. Befiect well, 
Phemie, before you recommit yourself to this bond- 
age. Other mothers and sisters live who have no 
daughter and sister, gifted, like yourself, with talent 
and energy to earn for them a comfortable support. 
If they were consulted, they would release you from 
this unnatural obligation. From the hour in which 
you promise to marry me, I charge myself with Al- 


124 PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. _ 

bert’s education, and in liis vacations yom— our 
home, dearest — shall be his. I love the boy for his 
own estimable qualities, and because it was through 
him I first knew you. Your mother can find a home 
with Mrs. Mandell, or, should you and she desire it, 
she shall live with us. Charlotte is already inde- 
pendent of aid from others. There is left only Olive 
— younger and as strong as yourself — fully as able 
to take care of one person you are to maintain 
four. Look at the case fairly, my darling ! Judge 
it as if it were another’s — and ” passing from the ar- 
gumentative strain he had compelled himself to 
adopt, into persuasive gentleness — fond coaxing, a 
thousand-fold harder to withstaiad ; ‘‘ come to me, 
my love, my beauty, my bird ! Fold the tired wings, 
stretched so bravely and so long, upon my breast ! 
Let me love and care for you, Phemie ! I want you ! 
you cannot guess how sorely ! ” 

He drew the beautiful head to his bosom, and it 
lay there for one moment. I could not help it ! ” 
she sobbed, the tears pressing from the hold of the 
closed lids when he stooped to kiss her. I shall 
never forget that you have offered me this rest — ' 
Albert and my mother a home. It is worth the 
battle and the anguish, to know this one instant of 
belief in your love, and to ■ feel what a high-souled, 
generous man you are. Yet it makes the parting 
harder.” 

“ You talk of parting still ! ” interposed Kobert, 
trying to lay the head back upon the pillow it had 
left. “You can think of our separation when you 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


125 


are mine, all mine! Do you then dream, for a 
second, that, having drawn from you the dear con- 
fession of your love, I can give you up ? You shall 
never leave me, Phemie 1 ” 

I must ! If I belonged to myself, you should not 
ask twice for so poor a gift as my hand. I under- 
stand better than you do what I am giving up. But 
I also remember — and this helps me to stand firmly 
— that you would resign much were you to marry me. 
When the popular story was that you meant to make 
Clara Mallory your wife, not a disapproving voice 
was heard. All classes united in declaring the union 
suitable, and in prophesying happiness for both of 
you. If it w^ere noised abroad that you had engaged 
yourself to the daughter of a bankrupt — a girl who 
had sewed, and copied law papers, and sold papers of 
pins and needles for a living, and whose meagre 
trousseau was bought with the proceeds of her labor 
as Mr. Arnold’s bookkeeper, the outcry w^ould be in- 
stant and loud against your throwing yourself away. 
You are so noble as to forget this. It is all the more 
needful, therefore, that I should not lose sight of it.” 

There was enough truth in this speech to renew 
the tingling sensation the suitor’s self-love had ex- 
perienced when he would have weighed impartially 
the worldly disadvantages of the meditated union, 
and the annoyance produced by this, added to that 
one always feels when anothor repeats as his, a senti- 
ment he more than suspects is contemptible, goaded 
him to retort more harshly than afiectionately. 

This is rank folly, Phemie ! I am accountable 


126 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


to no one for my actions. I am my own master — 
free to choose a wife for myself, and independent of 
w^hat others may say. Had you the same degree of 
moral courage, yon would spare ns both much use- 
less misery.’’ 

“ Do not be angry with me ! ” 

The brown eyes pleaded so meekly against his 
wrath he could not but kiss them shut. 

‘‘ Could I let you go, if I were not sure I was 
obeying the voice of Duty? You would not respect 
me — and love without respect is very short-lived — 
if I were to condemn my mother to a life of depend- 
ence upon aliens in blood, if not in feeling, my sister 
to servitude as a chambermaid or seamstress — she is 
qualified for no higher position, — and cast- my help- 
less brother upon your bounty, when I can keep them 
all together under one roof, above want and above 
charity. It is not pride that holds me fast to this 
purpose. It is common honesty and natural affec- 
tion.” 

‘‘ And is this to go on for ever, Phemie ? Are you 
to live and die a bond-slave ? ” 

“ God knows ! ” She folded her hands, and her 
head drooped in patient submission. ‘‘ He knows, 
too, what is best for me. In Him is my only hope 
that my cross will not be too heavy for me to bear.” 

“ I cannot resign my fondest hope in life so easily ! ” 
Kobert said, petulantly. He might have said that 
he liked his own way too well to resign the hope of 
having it whenever the accomplishment of his plans 
seemed feasible. “You think to fill your heart with 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


127 


other affections — your life with other aims. The 
disappointment is to me a foretaste of Death — ^it 
leaves me so little to live for.” 

“ You do not intend a sarcasm.” Phemie’s sad 
smile had in it a wondronsly plaintive meaning. 
‘‘But your words sound like one. You will look 
back to this hour, some day, and understand me.” 

“ You talk in puzzles, to-day ! I never had any 
trouble in comprehending you before. It may be 
that I am not in the frame of mind to discern readily 
the drift of riddles.” lie could hardly admit the 
possibility of his rejection, so stunning and unforeseen 
was this sequel to his confident wooing. He was 
honest in showing the misguided girl that she was 
casting away her fairest chance of happiness. He 
resumed, after a slight pause, more quietly, but still 
in the tone of one who felt his injuries to be 
great : — 

“But one thing is apparent. The suit I have 
argued — perhaps too warmly — is negatived by you. 
Should you ever see cause to regret your hasty de- 
cision, I stand ready to renew it.f Time cannot 
change me. Having once known and loved you, I. 
must always love you. My life was lonely before^y 
It wdll be desolate now. Eemember this when your 
chosen career ceases to satisfy you. I can bide my 
time.” 

“ 1 know what I have chosen. It is not a ques- 
tion of satisfaction, but of endurance,” replied Phe- 
mie, gently and sadly. “ That I shall not lose my 
reward, I must hope, for I believe the promise of the 


128 - 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


Father to tliose who endure hardness as good soldiers. 
But the hardness is hardness still, and existence a 
warfare, and the prize is not given until the race is 
won.” 

Mr. Hart looked down at her, his anger subdued 
by her humility and Christian patience. You are 
a brave, a grand, a good woman, Phemie ! ” he ex- 
claimed, impetuously. And I have met your hero- 
ism with unmanly petulance. Forgive me, darling! 
I submit to your decision, not because I acknowledge 
its justice to yourself or to me, but because I would 
not make your sacrifice more difficult. I thank you 
for telling me, in your own frank way, that it is a 
sacrifice. In this, as in many respects, your behav- 
ior has been unlike that of most women. One kiss, 
love 1 and I will trouble you no longer. If Miss 
Darcy. hears that I have been here, tell her what you 
please — what will pain you least.” 

“ I shall tell no one what has passed between us. 
I could not ! ” 

Hothing more was spoken ; but Mr. Hart felt that 
her eyes followed his course dowm the hill wdien their 
reluctant hands had parted, the last glance been ex- 
changed, appreciated better than he had confessed to 
her, the truth that, heavy and sore as was his heart, 
it was light in comparison with the aching one he 
left behind him. 

And thus the shadows closed again, and in the 
darkened chambers of her soul the woman bowed 
herself together in mourning over her buried youth, 
and the beautiful hope her own hand had slain. 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


129 


Oh ! when one reflects upon the million altars of 
sacriflce raised by hands, feeble in all but love for 
those given by Heaven to their care, and faith in the 
Helper of the sorrowing and heavy-laden, — altars, 
upon which the victims are the living hearts of the 
builders, and the burning incense, loves, hopes, and 
joys, innocent in themselves, and that are often the 
best treasures of the devotees, one marvels that the 
earth puts forth any green or lovely thing — that the 
bending skies ever smile. 

6 * 




CHAPTER YII. 

lEST a shadow — then a sorrow.” 

Ho one guessed how often Phemie said 
the words over to herself during the fall 
and winter that succeeded the brief bright- 
ness of her week in the country. Char- 
lotte had been one of the berry ing-party, and, be- 
coming over-tired or overheated, she was seized 
during the night with a chill, that was the prelude 
to a hemorrhage more copious and protracted than 
any that had preceded it. So soon as she was able 
to bear the journey, they took her back to the city. 
She never left the house again alive. Throughout 
the autumn and the early winter, her longest journey 
was from her chamber to Phemie’s on the same floor. 
Before Christmas she was bedridden, and required 
the constant attendance of Mrs. Rowland or Olive. 
One of these, or Miss Darcy, who devoted two nights 
each week to the pious charity, likewise watched 
from bedtime until daybreak, at the sujSerer’s bed- 
side. Charlotte, usually yielding to a fault, was 



PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


131 


resolute in forbidding Phemie to undertake tlie 
wliole vigil. The others could snatch an hour’s 
sleep during the day. Phemie’s time was not her ^ 
own. It pleased Charlotte to have her best-beloved 
sister near her in the evening, although the busy, 
driven pen allowed them no opportunity for conver- 
sation. The golden hours of the twenty-four were 
those when the broad brow with the banded hair 
oversweeping it ; the great, thoughtful eyes and 
firmly-closed lips bent in the invalid’s admiring sight 
over the paper she was preparing for Miss Darcy’s 
magazine. 

Phemie was a regular contributor to this now. 
The public were beginning to watch for her articles, 
and the principal editor to congratulate himself in 
place of regretting that he had obliged Miss Darcy 
by paying a new and unknown author. ^ According 
to his theory and practice she should have been con- 
tented, for a year or so, with seeing herself in print 
in his columns, and-, in the event of her future cele- 
brity, hold herself forever indebted to him for having 
furnished the stepping-stone to success. Phemie 
wrote nowhere except in Charlotte’s chamber, and all 
she wrote she read aloud to this one partial critic. 

It is the next best thing to being an author 
myself,” said the latter, one snowy December night, 
as Phemie^folded and enveloped her sketch prepara- 
tory to delivering it at the magazine office in the 
morning. 

She would save the postage by setting out early 
enough to call at Miss Darcy’s on her way down 


132 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


town, and tins was a consideration wdieii prices 
were still on the rise and salaries in statu quo. 

I wish I could tell you how proud I am of you, 
my precious sister ! ” was tjie addendum to the sick 
girl’s comment upon the story to which she had 
been listening. 

I wish you had more cause to be proud of me, 
Lottie, dear I ” responded Phemie, setting her desk 
aside and turning down the gas. 

They could talk as well in a dimly-lighted room, 
and Charlotte liked to watch the play of the street 
light from below upon the wall. The speaker 
chafed her right wrist — what w^earied penman does 
not recall the peculiar and sickening aching that led 
to the gesture? — and stretched out the fingers, 
cramped with their clench upon the barrel of a pen- 
holder for Thirteen hours, with the intervals of two 
half hours mr meals. \ 

You have not coughed so much to-night,” she 
continued, perching herself upon the bed, and lift- 
ing her sister to a sitting posture by supporting her 
against her shoulder. 

“ Haven’t I ? lam glad ! I dread coughing, be- 
cause it must disturb you.” 

“ Only as it gives you pain, my poor, unselfish 
child ! If I could do half, or all of it for you, I 
should not mind it at all. I should ap^’ove highly 
of that kind of division of labor.” 

‘‘ You are very tired ! ” said Charlotte, anxiously, 
detecting the false note in the accent the other would 
have made playful. 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


133 


“ Pshaw ! a little fagged, and slightly hoarse— 
nothing more ! ” was the rejoinder. “ And this is 
my style of resting myself. I could not ask a 
better.” 

“ That is because you do not know what rest is ! ” 
pursued Charlotte, with increasing uneasiness. “ I 
have many sorrowful thoughts about you as I lie 
here. You seem to me, all the while, like one under 
the goad — or wound up to too great speed — as if you 
dared not stop a moment, for fear you might sink 
down helpless.” 

Like Mr. Pickwick’s cab-horse,” interrupted 
Phemie, laughing. ‘ He always falls down, when 
he’s took out of his cab,’ said the driver, ‘ but when 
he’s in it, we bears him up werry tight, and takes 
him in werry short, so’s he can’t werry well fall 
down, and we’ve got a pair of precious lafge wheels 
on ; so ven he does move, they run after him, and he 
must go on — he can’t help it.’ Have no fears for 
me, Lottie ! I like work ; I enjoy nothing else so 
much. I was thinking, as I put up that packet just 
now, how thankful I am that I have enough to do.” 

That is not a natural feeling for a young girl. 
It is the consolation of one who dares not look back, 
and who has nothing to expect.” 

It is the true -philosophy — to live by the day,” 
returned Phemie. ‘‘And I have much to live for. 
My hourly prayer is that I may remember how 
much.” 

The fitful play of the street lamp on the wall 
seemed to catch Charlotte’s eye, and she watched it 


134 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


for a few moments. The sleet tapped at the rattling 
window, and the streets were silent with the hush 
of approaching midnight. Besides themselves, there 
was no other waking creature in the house. 

“ I wish I dared ask you a question,” said the sick 
sister, hesitating between the words. “ I have 
thought over many things since I have lain here, and 
more of you than all things else. Is it only my ill- 
ness and the added care and responsibility this has 
entailed upon you, with the almost certain knowledge 
of what the end must be, that has oppressed you all 
this winter — ever since the night I was taken sick 
in the country ? Others perceive no change in you. 
Mother, Olive, and Emily were saying to-day, how 
well you bear your increased labors ; how cheerful 
and strong you are. But I feel that you are not the 
same. You are grateful now where you used to be 
glad ; steady, where you were formerly buoyant. 
What is the matter, Phemie ? ” 

“ Am I changed ? It must be because I have so 
much to do and to think of, and I am growing old, 
little one. I shall be twenty-four next month. Don’t 
fret yourself about me, I repeat. I am getting along 
well — famously ! I mean to write a book next year 
that shall take the critics by storm and make all our 
fortunes.” 

“ I shall not be here to read it,” said the elder, 
simply; andPhemie’s overwrought composure failed 
her. 

Her tears dropped on the head resting upon her 
shoulder. I have tried to deceive you, Charlotte. 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


135 


I have had a great sorrow. I promised not to tell 
even you about it. But it has taken the spring out of 
my life. Stay with me, dearest sister ! Help me 
to live ! ” . 

“ I knew it ! ” The thin hand pulled down the 
wet cheek to the wan one. “ But you will be happy 
yet, dear. And my going will help on this end. I 
see it all ! ” . 

Before Phemie could utter the expostulation upon 
her tongue, Olive 'entered. She had been taking tea 
with Emily, and her hood was pushed back from a 
very ruddy face. Absorbed as the sisters were in 
other and sadder concerns, both remarked something 
singular in her look and manner, as she kissed them, 
with many apologies for staying out so late. It was 
her night to take care of Charlotte, and her mother 
had retired two hours before. 

‘‘ I didn’t mean to keep you up, Phemie,” she said, 
fidgeting from the bureau to the closet, turning up 
the gas, and then putting it out altogether in her 
haste to lower it. “But Emily had some sewing ibr 
me to do, and Seth was out until ten o’clock at the 
store, or somewhere, and Emily was obliged to stay 
in the nursery with little Joe, who was not quite 
well ” — 

“ Little Sethj you mean — don’t you ? ” corrected 
Charlotte. 

“ I said so — didn’t I ? ” Olive hurried on at a great 
rate, unhooking her dress, and taking down a wrapper 
from the closet. “ So when Joe — Seth, I would- say 
— came in — ” 


136 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


“ Eeally, Oily, I think you had better wait to re- 
cover your breath — or your wits,” interposed Phemie, 
smiling at her frantic blunders, despite her own 
weary-hearted ness. 

‘‘ It’s no use ! ” Good-natured, honest Olive threw 
herself upon her sister’s bed, and laughed and cried 
together. “ Pve got Joe into my head, and he slips 
off my tongue with every other word. For he spent 
the evening at Emily’s, and we had the parlor all to 
ourselves, and he walked home with me besides, and 
he asked me to marry him, and he has liked me this 
great while, and I like him, and I have promised to 
marry him if mother can spare me, and if you — 
Charlotte and Phemie — don’t object. Seth and Em 
know all about it, and they say I could not get a 
better husband.” 

“ You could not, indeed ! ” answered Phemie, em- 
phatically. “They may well say that. You have 
chosen wisely, and so has he. You 'will make him a 
good wife, and he you an excellent husband. Nobody 
can dream of objecting to the match, or of throwing 
a straw in your way. I congratulate you with all my 
heart.” 

“ And I ! ” said Charlotte, rather faintly. “ But 
you have taken us — or me, at least, by surprise.” 

“ You thought he was in love with Phemie,” said 
the candid fiancee. “ And you were right. He did 
love her — for years and years — even after she had 
told him it was useless to hope for any other answer 
than ‘ No.’ I liked him all the while. I used to be 
angry with her for her indifference to him, and the 


PHEMIWS TEMPTATION. 


137 


fan she made of him — but I forgive you now, 
Phemie. He fancied me first on account of my 
resemblance to you, which 1 fancy nobody else 
will ever discover,” laughing in the fulness of her 
happiness. He wasn’t brilliant or handsome 
enough for you, Phemie, I suppose yon thought, but 
he couldn’t please me better if he had been made to 
order.” 

I never objected to his want of brilliancy or lack 
of good looks, as he will tell you,” returned her 
sister. “ I only assured him that I should never 
marry. If I had loved him never so truly, my 
answer must have been the same.” 

TAm, perhaps — not now ! ” whispered Charlotte, 
pressing Phemie’s fingers to her lips. “ Child ! child ! 
what a martyr we have made of you!” she said, 
aloud, in a passion of regret and venei’ation. 

Ridiculous ! ” Phemie could bear no more. “ It 
is we who are martyrizing you — talking you to 
death I I will give you your soothing draught now, 
and then you must sleep, without letting our be- 
trothed maiden speak ten words more, even in the 
praise of her worthy Joe. He is worthy of all your 
love and respect. Oily, as you may possibly find out 
for yourself in time, if you are moderately discern- 
ing.” 

As she arranged Charlotte’s pillows for the night, 
the emaciated arms suddenly clasped her neck, and, 
looking steadfastly into her eyes, the sick girl said, 
in earnest, thrilling tones : “ ‘ I know thy works, and 
charity, and faith, and thy patience, and the last to 


138 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


he more than the first ! ’ God bless you, darling, for 
the best, strongest, most faithful woman that ever 
lived ! ” 

“ She was sleeping sweetly after a restless night,” 
said Olive, when Phemie relieved her watch at dawn, 
and she did not awake while the latter remained at 
home. She was due at the store at eight o’clock, and 
the walk through the streets slippery with ice and 
slush would consume an hour. She peeped into 
Charlotte’s room on her way out, but seeing her face 
tinted with a delicate flush, too clear and lovely for 
that of health, and giving her an aspect of youthful 
beauty she did not wear wlien awake — still lying 
with closed eyes upon the pillow, she kissed her 
mother, who was watching her, a silent ‘‘Good-by,” 
and went out to her day’s work. 

She was almost hopeful this morning. She had 
heard from Albert the previous day. His home- 
sickness had yielded to the kindly-judicious treat- 
ment of the attendants at the Institute in which he 
was now a pupil, while his progress in his studies and 
irreproachable behavior were commented upon favor- 
ably by his teachers. Olive was to be married, and 
Joe Bonney was consoled ; she was more pleased 
than usual with her latest literary effort, and Char- 
lotte Avas better. Rays of light — all of these — which 
would have made broad day in a heart unshadowed 
by a brooding sorrow that ever held its place, let 
other troubles thicken, or disperse. It was not a 
busy day at the store, and between the entries and 
calculations that made up the routine of her labors. 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 139 

she found leisure to think out the outline of a new 
article for Miss Darcy. 

“ If Lottie is comfortable, to-night, I will begin it 
forthwith,” she 'was resolving, when a ' dirty errand- 
boy, evidently snatched up for the purpose from one 
of the back streets near her home, laid on her desk a 
note from her sister Emily. 

Charlotte is dying. Come home ! ” 

How she got into Mr. Arnold’s presence she did 
not know, nor how she made known her business. 
But she did feel, in every, impatient pulse, the meas- 
ured accents that repeated her announcement and 
remarked upon it. 

“ Your sister is dying, and you want to go home, 
immediately, I — ah — understood you to say. Miss 
Howland ? So — so ! ” scraping his dewlap of a chin 
with his cleanly pared nails. “ IJm — m ! If the 
summons be correct, I suppose there is reason in your 
request. By whom was it sent % ” 

“ My sister wrote to me, sir. It is certainly true,” 
moving a step toward the door. 

Your sister I Then she can hardly be dying ! Is 
she not a — ah — trifle hypochondriacal ? ” 

Poor Phemie was ready to believe that he took a 
ghoulish pleasure in reiterating the dread phrase 
that had driven her beside herself. “ Another sister I ” 
she explained, laconically. 

Oh ! Ah ! I see ! There is no alternative, 
then. Miss Howland. I shall have to let you go, in- 
convenient and unbusiness-like as such a proceeding 
is. I hope, however ” — the fat slave of routine had it 


140 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


in Ins slow brain to say, “ that tlie like will not occur 
again” — but some linge rings of propriety exchanged 
that formula for, that you will discover this to be — 
ah — a false alarm.” 

She was off like the wdnd, wdien he recalled her. 

Miss Rowland ! ” 

Could nothing hasten the fall of his oily periods ? 

“ Miss Rowland ! When may we look for you at 
your post again ? This is a busy season, you recol- 
lect. The claims of grief should — ah — in every 
well-ordered mind, yield, succumb, give way to the 
more weighty considerations of the public good. You 
have excellent judgment, Miss Rowland, and must 
see this.” 

“ I shall be back at my desk to-morrow, unless my 
sister is still living in the morning ! ” Phemie en- 
gaged, her great eyes set upon his with an expres- 
sion he understood no more than he would have done 
a dissertation upon the subtler humanities that dis- 
tinguish the man from the boor. 

“Yery prompt! a laudable zeal. Miss Rowland! 
Your response is entirely regular and professional. 
Afflictions are, of course — ah — unpleasant items in 
the bill of life, but they are expenses that must be^ 
met — notes which — ah — must be honored. Miss Row- 
land. I will not detain you. I hope you will find 
your relative better. Should anything — ah — occur to 
change your intentions concerning your return, please 
apprise me.” 

He let her go at last ! She put on her cloak and 
hat as she passed swiftly through the store, and had 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


141 


just cleared the outer door when she espied an empty- 
carriage coming up the street. In her haste to signal 
it, she slipped upon the sodden snow, and would have 
fallen, but for the friendly arm of a gentleman who 
was passing. ‘‘ Phemie ! ” he cried, surprised at the 
encounter, and shocked at her agitated countenance. 
What is it ? Where are you going ? ” 

‘‘Home! home! Oh ! stop that carriage! I have 
not time to walk ! ” 

Mr. Hart shouted to the inattentive driver; led her 
to the vehicle, seated her, and got in himself. “ You 
must let me see you home. You are unfit to go 
alone. What has happened, my poor child ? ” 

She put Emily’s note into his hand, and covered 
her face. He did not speak at once. He may have 
waited for her to recover her self-command. He may 
have been at a loss for fitting language. When he 
accosted her, it was with words of hope he did not 
feel, nor she believe, but she accounted his motive to 
be a kind one, and was grateful. 

“ It is quite true ! There is no mistake. ,My heart 
tells me this,” she said chokingly. “ I should have 
known it last night and this morning. But I was 
foolish and blind. My gentle sister ! ” 

Mr. Hart’s reply was to take her hand and hold it 
closely until they reached her mother’s door. There 
were strength and comfort in the clasp, and Phemie 
looked up, brave and tranquil in seeming, when he 
said, “ We are at home ! I shall wait down stairs to 
hear how she is.” 

He waited half an hour in the parlor — not the 


142 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


stud}^ which could not be warmed in winter, but in 
the larger room, also cheerless and cold to-day, and 
the scantiness and cheapness of the furniture the 
more glaring on this account. Mr. Hart sympathized 
warmly with the woman he loved in her distress, but 
his mind was busier with other things, as he w^an- 
dered up and down the narrow limits, stroking his 
flowing beard, and appearing to study the indistinct 
arabesques of the ingrain carpet. This was the home 
she had refused to desert that she might share his ; 
this life of pinching poverty and heart-breaking sor- 
row she would not resign at his prayer, although she 
loved him. Would Charlotte’s death weaken this 
resolution ? Hardly. It would, it was more likely, 
increase her burden, since this sister was one of the 
money-makers of the family. He sighed heavily and 
repeatedly, in contemplating this possibility. Once 
he muttered audibly ; — 

I wish I could forget the girl altogether ! I can 
see no turning to this lane. It looks longer and 
more unpromising every day.” 

Olive came down after a while. Her eyes vrere 
red with crying; her nose and lips inflamed and 
swollen. It would have puzzled Joe himself to trace 
any likeness in her, as she then appeared, to her 
beautiful sister. 

Charlotte had been dead an hour. 

“ She had lain in a sort of stupor we mistook for 
sleep, since seven o’clock,” said Olive, ‘‘ until at noon 
she opened her eyes and asked for Phemie. Emily 
was in at the time, and she saw directly that she 


PHEMIE'^ TEMPTATION. 


143 


was dying. The worst of it all was to see Phemie go 
up and kiss the poor, cold lips when she came home. 
I feel really very uneasy about her. She hasn’t shed 
a tear — yet she loved Charlotte better than she did 
anything else in the world. She is. stunned — that is 
what is the matter — and I dread the reaction. She 
told me to thank you, Mr. Hart, for your kindness in 
bringing her home. You’ll excuse her not coming 
down, I am sure.” 

Olive was always painfully precise in the company 
of her sister’s friend. He was “not her sort,” she 
used to say privately to Emily and Charlotte, “ and 
she couldn’t feel easy with him.” 

Mr. Hart said a phrase of polite acquiescence ; 
another of condolence, and turned to go, when the 
door opened to admit a tall, sandy-haired young man, 
his -by-no-means-handsome face full of genuine con- 
cern, and Olive forgot her awe of the distingue 
publisher. 

“ O Joe ! ’’she screamed, running forward to throw 
herself into his arms. “ I knew you’d come right 
away. She’s gone, Joe, dear ! she’s gone!” 

Mr. Hart slipped out, unobserved. But the light 
in his eye, as he softly closed the front door, did not 
belong to a house of mourning. 

He sat in his bachelor parlor the next evening, 
handsome and comfortable in his dressing-gown and 
slippers ; a cigar between his lips, a new novel in his 
hand, and a decanter of sherry within reach on the 
beaufet, when a lady was announced. 

“ Don’t throw away your cigar. Hart,” said Miss 


144 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


Darcy’s even, pleasant voice, close behind the ser- 
vant. “It is only I. And don’t blame the ser- 
vant for admitting me. I told him you would see 
me.” 

“ With the greatest pleasure,” returned the gentle- 
man, bringing forward a seat — a low, lounging Gre- 
cian chair, with a soft, yet most elastic back and 
seat. 

Miss Darcy set it aside, and helped herself to an 
upright one, with the decided, “I prefer this — thank 
you.” 

“ I ought not to offer you a cigar, I suppose,” con- 
tinued Mr. Hart, smiling.. “ But let me pour out a 
glass of wine for you, after your walk in the wet.” 

Her aqua scutem suit was splashed with mud and 
rain. “ I should as soon think of smoking as drink- 
ing,” was the rejoinder. “I never take cold from 
exposure to the weather. Then, again, inward heat 
is good for keeping off chilliness. I am boiling over 
to-night.” 

Mr. Hart was attentive. “ Hothing unpleasant has 
occurred, I trust ? ” 

“Would I fume over a pleasant occurrence?” 
asked the other, curtly. “I was in at Mrs. How- 
land’s this afternoon, and learned that Phemie had 
been at the desk all day, in Arnold’s store, wdiile her 
sister lay dead at home.” 

“ Ho ! ” interjected the listener. 

“ Yes ! What is more, Arnold knew she meant to 
be there, and, so far from preventing her, he com- 
mended her intention — accepted the act as his due.” 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


145 


“He is an unfeeling brute!” 

“ He is a man ! ” was Miss Darcy’s amendment. 
“ Having power, he likes to use it. What right has 
a working-girl to nurse her private woes at his ex- 
pense ? She is better off, as it is, than hundreds of 
other women, for her health is good, and she earns 
enough to keep the wolf. Want, from her household. 
I could tell you of mothers who have kept their dead 
babes in the cradles in which they died for a week, be- 
fore they could, by making heavy pantaloons at eight- 
een cents a j)air, scrape together the money to buy pine 
cofiins and graves in the corner of a crowded people’s 
cemetery. Phemie Kowland lias acq^iired the means 
of procuring Charlotte’s medicines and paying the 
doctor’s bills by writing stories and essays for our 
magazine. These were penned — every one of them 
— at her sister’s bedside. They could not afford to 
keep up more than two fires. There must be one in 
the kitchen. The other was in Charlotte’s room. 
Phemie divided her time between the bed and the 
desk, the elder sister stifling her deadly cough when- 
ever she could, lest sympathy witli her suffering 
should brealc the other’s train of thought. For these 
articles — spicy and popular as they are acknowledged 
ta be — my Superior, Bundlecome, pays her one dollar 
per MS. page— foolscap and compactly written. Tliis 
specimen of masculine liberality brings us back to 
Mr. Arnold. Charlotte is to be buried on Friday. 
Phemie is bent upon going back to her post to-mor- 
row. Arnold deigned to inquire to-day how her 
sister was, and after replying, she stated her desire 
7 


146 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


that he would obtain a substitute for her on the day 
of her funeral. Whereupon he ‘ supposed he must,’ 
but ‘ feared he, should find it difficult to procure one 
who would act for one day only.’ My business here 
is to ask from you a line recommending me to this 
high-minded gentleman as a person competent to 
keep his books for twelve hours. I would go to- 
morrow, too, but office-work prevents. I understand 
book-keeping, not so well as if I were a man, of 
course” — grimly sardonic; ‘‘but I have taught the 
art. Phemie Rowland had no other instructor. 
Several of riiy pupils — boys — occupy desks in the 
counting-rooms oi prominent merchants in this city. 

I knew that ^mu were acquainted with this Arnold, 
and were interested in the Rowlands, and conceived 
the idea of applying to you.” 

“I will recommend you, certainly — without hesi- 
tation,” answered Mr. Hart. “ But I fancy I can do ^ 
better for our friend than . by adopting your sugges- 
tion entire. I will supply her place, not only on Fri- 
day, but to-morrow and Saturday, and as much longer 
as she may wish to be relieved from business cares. 
Her substitute shall be a clerk of our own — a good 
accountant, an obliging fellow, and quite competent 
to the duties of the place. I will see Arnold about 
the matter to-night. He lives on the next block.” 

Miss Darcy’s eyes twinkled. “ You have a way of 
cheating me into playing the baby in my old age,” she 
said, brusquely. “ You are an honor, and an excep- 
tion, to your sex ! ” 

Mr. Hart bowed low. “Please credit my-sex with 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


147 


the circumstance that there are exceptions to the in- 
glorious whole ! Pray believe me, furthermore, when 
I assert that there are not fifty men in the city, pro- 
fessing to be respectable, who would not, if they were 
made acquainted with the facts you have stated, con- 
demn Arnold’s course as I do, and endeavor, by every 
means at their command, to soften the rigor of Miss 
Rowland’s lot.” 

“ I am too much obliged to you to controvert your 
proposition,” returned Miss Darcy. ‘*But if I were 
not gagged by gratitude, I could bring to bear upon 
the point some other facts — they are my only argu- 
ments — that might compel you to change your base. 
I thank you, sincerely, in the name of the family, and 
in my own, for your timely assistance. And” — 
awkwardly, for one so frank as it was her habit to bo 
— please send the substitute to me for his pay. I act, 
in this case, as Phemie’s banker.” 

The other looked hurt. That neutralizes the ef- 
fect of the kind things you have been saying of me. 
I will attend to all that, if you will allow me the 
privilege. Do not intimate to the family that I have 
had anything to do in the affair. Arnold shall write 
a note, stating that Miss Rowland’s place is supplied 
until such time as she shall choose to resume it. How 
is she, by the way ? Miss Olive described her yester- 
day as apparently stunned by the shock of her sister’s 
death. I was fearful that, the reaction of violent 
grief, succeeding her unnatural calmness, would be 
injurious.” 

He said it so carelessly as to be clumsy in phrase 


148 


PIIEMIE'8 TEMPTATION, 


and manner, looking away from his companion, at 
some object across the room. Miss Darcy was un- 
suspicious, and, moreover, absorbed in her conipas- 
sionate thoughts of the afflicted family. 

Reactions are not common to minds like hers,” 
she said, half proudly. She has met this sorrow as 
she has all other reverses — with fortitude ; with no 
complaint of her own pain ; with tenderest love and 
pity for those who suffer with her. Yet the loss is 
peculiarly hers. Charlotte was the one member of 
her family who thoroughly appreciated her, and loved 
her as she should be loved. Mrs. Rowland idolizes 
her own miseries, and is too much engaged in offering 
up to these the tribute of tears and sighs, and in pa- 
rading her stock of first-class woes for the mournful 
admiration of her friends, to spare many thoughts to 
her daughters. Olive is a good-tempered, industrious 
-little dumpling, but her sphere is the kitchen. All 
her ideas, outside of this, ’concentre upon the man she 
is to marry, who is likewise good-tempered and indus- 
trious.” 

“ I saw him yesterday, I believe,” said Mr. Hart, yet 
more carelessly, judged them to be a pair of be- 
trothed lovers from their meeting.” 

“ I think the household will be broken up, now,” 
continued Miss Darcy. “Mrs. Rowland was dilating 
to me, to-day, upon the excellent offer made to her by 
her widower brother, whom she visited last summer. 
He is older than she, and his children are all married. 
He wants her to live with him and take charge of his 
house. The neighborhood is pleasant, and the climate 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


149 


agrees admirably with her health, and she has almost 
resolved to go, so soon as Olive marries. In that 
event, Phemie will, they think, reside with one of her 
wedded sisters. I think she will prefer, for reasons I 
do not care to state, to engage rooms in the same 
house with me. I shall propose the plan.” 

Her host was spinning a globular paper-weight on 
the table — intent, it would seem, upon making it de- 
scribe its evolutions upon the smallest possible pivot. 
He looked gravely complacent at his dexterity, when 
he picked up his toy, and fell to balancing it upon the 
tip of his middle finger. “ That is your plan — is it ? ” 

Miss Darcy stared at him hard before answering. 
‘‘ It is,” she said, with a perplexed air. There was 
something in his manner beyond her compre- 
hension. ‘‘ Can you think of a better ? A young, 
handsome woman like her would be talked about if 
she lived alone. I don’t mind gossip, where I am the 
theme, but I am sensitive for Phemie. Men call me 
a dragon, sometimes. I may be able to protect her 
the better because of that reputation.” 

“ I flatter myself that I can propose a more con- 
venient, and, to some of the parties concerned, a 
pleasanter arrangement.” Mr. Hart recovered the 
toppling globe with the first and third fingers, and 
replaced it upon the table. “ I mean to marry her 
myself.” 

Miss Darcy shoved her chair back at least a foot, 
stood bolt upright, and surveyed him with a kind of 
angry astonishment he found very diverting, for he 
laughed his gay, light-hearted laugh in asking : — 


150 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


‘‘Why not, my excellent friend?” 

“ I should as soon have thought of your marrying 
me ! ” 

He laughed more heartily. ‘‘ I shouldn’t.” 

He told her then, with grave, real feeling, very be- 
coming to him, of the rise and course of his love,, of 
his proposal, of her rejection, and the cause of it. 
Miss Darcy listened, hut her features* did not relax 
from their settled uneasiness. She shook her head, 
when he had finished, resolutely as when he began, 
and Miss Darcy’s negative nod was something worth 
seeing by the lovers of decided measures. 

It won’t do ! ” She need not have said it in 
words, but she did. “You are a good soul in some 
respects. Hart, but you are not Phemie Howland’s 
peer in intellect, or elevation of character and prin- 
ciple. You have too many masculine foibles and 
weaknesses. When she finds these out she will tire 
of lying at your feet and chanting your godlike per- 
fections. I have noticed, ever since she first met you, 
that she overrated you, and she cannot help learning 
this for herself in time. You cannot wear stilts for- 
ever, and you are not the right height for her without 
them. A wife must not overtop her husband, if she 
would be happy with him. All the fiimsy, gilt- 
edged manuals of Courtship and Marriage will tell 
you that much. The more his stature exceeds hers, 
the better, according to the rules that now control 
society. You believe in, and are governed by these 
rules. You would not allow the truth of Phemie’s 
equality with your princely self, if you were put upon 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


151 


your oath. All this stereotyped cant about angel- 
hood and superangelic perfections is a patent drug 
invented by the Father of lies (note the masculine 
gender, please !), to cozen women out of their com- 
mon sense, their birthright of brains and individu- 
ality. In this age a woman ignores her possession of 
these last when she marries, unless her husband is 
one out of a million. And you are one of not a mil- 
lion, but several hundred millions. In too many 
instances, the second party to the marriage contract 
having been set to work, by the time she could lisp 
that she was a ‘little girl,’ to poison, stifle, and up- 
root the offensive weed. Individuality, does not suffer 
intensely when she is forced to part with the slender 
remains gf it. Phemie’s characteristics are strong, 
and have been defined distinctly by her peculiar ex- 
perience. She has a work to do in the world, and 
you would hinder her from doing it by making her 
the appendage to your social distinction and wealth.” 

“ Your candor is oppressive ! ” Her auditor bit liis 
lip, and his slender, white fingers closed upon the 
glass globe with a tenacity that looked cruel and dan- 
gerous. “ It is fortunate for me that Miss Rowland 
may have formed a more charitable opinion of my 
character, and may hold different views respecting her 
lot in life.” 

“That is what I fear! ” replied Miss Darcy, more 
and more disturbed, and as observant of his displeas- 
ure as an elephant would be of the buzzing of a fly 
upon the extremity of his tusk. “ She has not awak- 
ened yet to the consciousness of her own powers. Her 


152 


PEEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


wings are just growing. She would be* a true help- 
mate to a great scholar, or a man who had it in him 
to achieve eminence in any department of letters. 
You will hardly distinguish yourself in anything 
really wortliy the trouble of intellectual effort. The 
city is full of men like you — highly respectable, in- 
telligent enough for the demands of general society, 
‘ well up ’ in dilettanteism when the fine arts and 
books are the subject of talk, and liberal -patrons of 
rising genius. The wwld could not spare you. You 
fill a niche seemingly more important than many 
pedestals in the Temple of Fame. But you are only 
the sons of men, after all, and when you w^ed with 
Avomen of genius it is the story of the ‘ Loves of the 
Angels,’ Avith a difference in the sex of the higher 
intelligence. I am talking too plainly, maybe,” the 
idea suddenly presenting itself to her straightfor- 
ward apprehension. “ But Avhile my chief solicitude 
is for Phemie’s happiness, I am considering yours 
also. You admire her beauty, her grace, her rare 
fascination of manner and conA^ersation, and you de- 
ceive yourself Avith the notion that you have read her 
through to the last leaf. Whereas you have only in- 
spected the binding and the title-page. If she were 
your Avife, you Avould continue to regard her Avith the 
same feeling in kind, although not in degree, as that 
AA^hich excites you to animation Avhen 3^011 examine 
one of your finest Elzevirs. You will either dwarf 
her, or she will outgrow you so far that people Avill 
perceive and remark upon it, and by-and-by you Avill 
suspect it yourself. Then you Avill never see another 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


153 


happy hour — either of you. Superiority on the part 
of a wife is an unpardonable sin, unforgivable by the 
husband, pitied by the world with a sneering com- 
passion that is more galling than obloquy. Good 
heavens ! ” the strong-minded woman interrupted her- 
self to say, rising in the intensity of her emotion and 
walking very fast to and fro through the spacious 
room. Are not the biographies of gifted women so 
many blood-red beacons, telling how loving hearts 
split and went down upon the reef of popular preju- 
dice, or ran a-foul of unmanly envy — so called — (I 
should say it was essentially manly, myself!) or were 
pierced through and through by hatred that once 
went by the name of afiection ; — affection changed to 
wrath and rancor by the knowledge that what should 
have remained the weaker vessel, was, in reality, the 
nobler, more sea-worthy barque of the two 1 Don’t 
marry this girl. Hart. If you crush her, she will 
cease to respect you, and be miserable beyond your 
powers of conception. If she should outshine you, 
you will hate her. I am rough of speech, but mine 
are the words of truth and soberness. Hobody else 
will ever warn you as I have done — and done in sin- 
cere kindness and good-will.” 

I hope not, indeed-! ” The dark-gray eyes were 
murky, and the lips contorted by a cold sneer. “When 
you are more sane. Miss Darcy, you will bear me 
witness that this attack was unprovoked by me. You 
may — ^you will, doubtless, try the effect of your elo- 
quence upon Miss Eowland as you have done upon 
me — probably with more signal effect. As I am, un- 
7 * 


154 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


fortunately for me, a gentleman, I cannot recriminate 
upon a woman. It should be a cause of continual 
rejoicing with you and your sisters that our accursed 
sex has not this privilege.” 

‘‘ Why, bless my soul ! ” cried Miss Darcy, in 
amazement, “the man is angry with me ! I had not 
a thought of wounding or displeasing you. If I have 
been rude, I beg your pardon a thousand times. I 
told you, at the outset, that I liked ,you. I have said, 
it is true, that you were not Phemie’s equal, but you 
repeated that twice during your narrative of how you 
happened to fall in love with her; I added that a 
man should be his wife’s peer in something beside 
physical stature and strength. You cannot deny 
that. I a*ssumed that your design in marrying was 
to increase your hap'piness, and I thought it was but 
friendly to state my conviction that you w^ere not 
likely to do this by carrying out your present scheme. 
But as to saying a word to Phemie derogatory of you, 
or interfering with the success of your suit, that would 
be taking a base advantage of your confidence. I will 
go now. Maybe, when you come to think over what 
has passed, you will do my motives justice, if you 
cannot subscribe to the truth of my language. I 
cannot say that I wish you may win Phemie, for, in 
my judgment, you would be better apart. Neverthe- 
less I shall ofier no obstacle to your wooing; and, if 
you should marry her, I hope from the bottom of my 
heart that you may be very happy, and that you will 
cherish her as she should be loved and treasured.” 



CHAPTER YIII. 



•T was Tuesday morning in Joe Bonney’s 
neat two-story tenement in Yiolet Street. 

Tuesday morning — I may explain for the 
enlightenment of those who hold dignified 
and indolent court over, a staff of well- 
appointed servants in brown-stone four-story mansions 
in purlieus where there are remote suggestions — in 
green door-yards and walled inclosures, gardens by 
courtesy, forty by twenty-four, with a fountain in the 
middle and a tree on each side of the same — that 
violets may once have been plucked there — Tuesday 
morning, I take leave to state to those whose incomes 


are immoderate, is but one remove from the whirl 
and chaos and general upsidedownity of Monday, to 
people living upon moderate incomes in two-floored 
“ bricks” in unfashionable precincts. By what human 
ordinance or Providential intimation it was originally 
appointed unto womankind to lay hold of the log of 
the week by the heaviest and most knobby end, I 
never expect to know. It is one of the institutions 


156 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


that remain because they are institutions. It is — and 
it has been from time immemorial, and it will be 
until the end of this reeling old globe of ours — the 
law of thrifty housewives that eyes anointed by the 
blessed sleep of Sabbath night shall be unsealed by 
cock-crow to smart and water in the smoke of boiling 
suds; that the hands lately folded in prayer and 
crossed in sacred decency through the hallowed hours, 
shall rub, and redden, and roughen over the bleached 
ridges of wooden wash-boards, or the luckless laborer 
lose temper and cuticle together as the knuckles 
abrade against the treacherous grooves of metal 
patents ; ” that, what with lifting boilers and tubs, 
and wringing, and starching, and hanging out, and 
folding down, the priestess of that unblessed day in 
the calendar, an^ her co-workers shall be, by night, 
separated from Sunday quiet and Sunday thoughts by 
such an abyss of unsavory odors and sweltering heats ; 
by such backaches and headaches, and armaclies and 
legaches, that the recollection is like a dream of 
doubtful authenticity, and the hope that the like will 
ever recur is frightfully counterbalanced by the re- 
flection that if it should, it would be the day before 
Monda}’". 

Tuesday is one remove from this woful period, as I 
have remarked less dolorously than in alluding to 
the soapy age in the hebdomadal formation. The 
deluge of fetid suds has dried from off the domestic 
world, but the bravest dove that ever flew would not 
alight upon the debris it has left. The dainty appe- 
tites which revolted yesterday at the ‘‘ pick-up” break- 


PHEMIE^a TEMPTATION, 


157 


fast, dinner, and supper, will derive little stay on this 
day from the stale loaf unsupported by muffins, grid- 
dle-cakes, or biscuit that typifies the staff of life at the 
morning meal, or the two dishes of vegetables that 
flank the hurriedly-prepared steak at dinner, or the 
staler loaf and chipped beef forming the Thanksgiv- 
ing feast after the family linen is once more gotten up. 
The kitchen is hot as it was on Monday, with the 
difference that the atmosphere reminds one to-day of 
a lime-kiln more than of a vapor-bath. The haste 
and labor are the same in extent, but have a charac- 
ter of their own arising from the pervading and over- 
whelming sense of dryness and the smell of the heated 
irons, calling to the imagination the fable of the tor- 
ture chamber which had a furnace in the cellar, 
while the walls were composed of metal plates. 

It was still early — just nine o’clock a. m. on this 
particular March Tuesday — but Mrs. Bonney’s one 
servant, a brisk mulatto, was plying one of the un- 
couth truncated triangles, aptly denominated sad- 
irons, and Olive herself was busy at another table 
compounding a veal scallop for dinner. They had 
had a breast of veal hot on Sunday — Joe liked a good 
dinner on that day ; and because Joe did not like cold 
meat at noon, his wife had steamed it for him on Mon- 
day by setting a cullender, closely covered, over a pot 
of boiling water. To-day, the ingenious and indefati- 
gable economist would serve *it up to him in a still 
different shape, which, if he had a choice, he prefer- 
red to any other. A layer of the meat, finel^^-minced, 
was put in the bottom of a baking-dish, a little salt 


158 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


and pepper sprinkled over it, a few bits of butter 
added, then a layer of bread-crumbs, and another of 
meat, proceeding in the same order until the dish was 
full, the upper stratum to be bread-crumbs moistened 
plentifully with milk, in which an egg had been 
beaten. Before this crust went on, however, she put 
in gravy enough to keep the lower strata from insipid 
dryness — and behold a dish that, with mashed pota- 
toes, and stewed tomatoes, and half a mince-pie left 
over from Monday — it took the three two days to dis- 
patch a pie— would make a dinner tit for the relishful 
discussion of a richer man, and one more epicurean 
in his tastes than honest, easy Joe Bonney. 

Olive looked contented and happy as she went nim- 
bly on with her work, chatting the while with her do- 
mestic more familiarly than most mistresses would do. 
But “ Jane was a perfect treasure,” she never failed 
to disclose when she talked “ house ” with other ma- 
trons. One of the kind who never presumes, you 
know. She is really a deal of company for me, and 
so handy and willing ! ” J ane might have echoed the 
last encomium and applied it to her mistress. Olive 
was an admirable housekeeper, and dearly enjoyed the 
business in all its departments. 

“ Yes, we are all married, now,” she answered 
a query relative to her family. “ That is, all of us 
girls. My wedding-day is next Friday, and I should 
like to celebrate it by a family gathering, only we are 
so scattered. Mother is four hundred miles away, and 
my sister Euphemia, Mrs. Hart, who was married a 
month later than I was, is nearer four thousand. She 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


159 


■went abroad three weeks after her marriage, and they 
have been travelling ever since.” 

Her husband must be very rich,” remarked the 
servant, taking a hot iron from the range. 

“ He is — and very liberal with his money. Both 
my sisters married richer men than I did, but I never 
minded that a bit. 1 couldn’t be happier than I am 
— not if I had a gold mine. Hobody in the world 
has a better husband than mine.” 

“ Mr. Bonney is a very nice man,” assented Jane, 
“ and a real generous provider. I’ve seen millionaires 
that stinted, in their kitchens.” 

“ That is true ! ” said Olive, heartily. “ He never 
lets me want for a thing which he can buy. We are 
well enough off for young people. I wasn’t cut out 
for a fashionable lady. Mrs. Mandell has more taste 
for that sort of show than I have, and she is able to 
gratify it. Mrs. Hart is the handsomest of us all. 
She was born stylish. She always looked like a 
queen, even when she had on a calico wrapper, and 
she is very smart.” 

“About work?” inquired the mulatto, to whom 
the word had but one meaning. 

“ Yes. She could do anything she chose to turn 
her hand to ; but she was particularly clever about 
books and writing, and all that, you know. I sup- 
pose that was one reason why she married a book- 
seller.” 

“ Does she help him make the books?” 

“ Why, no ! ^ What an idea 1 Hot that she couldn’t 
if she wanted to, but he is so wealthy she need not 


160 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


lift a linger, if she doesn’t wisli it. He has taken her 
to see all sorts of wonderful things while they have 
been travelling, but she writes that she is longing 
for a home in America. I don’t wonder at it. I 
should be tired to death running about, living in 
hotels and the like for twelve months. Give me a 
quiet dwelling in my native place and plenty to do in 
it. That is my idea of comfort ! Mercy ! ” 

She jumped back at the peal of a bell projecting on 
a spring from the wall above the table. ‘‘ I shall 
never get used to that ! It always takes me by sur- 
prise. It’s Iticky it didn’t wake baby ! Step to the 
door, will you, Jane? It can’t be a call. It’s too early.” 

notwithstanding her self-gratulation upon the 
baby’s unimpaired slumber, she deemed it safest to 
step into the adjoining dining-room where his cradle 
stood, to be quite sure of what she had stated. All 
was right, and, returning to the kitchen, her greasy 
hands held out before her in the stiff manner common 
to cooks who do not think it necessary to wash their 
fingers for every trivial interruption in their work, 
she espied behind Jane, whose countenance was a 
mixture of perplexity and curiosity, the figure of a 
lady. She had her back to the window, and the 
style of her hat and cut of her cloak being strange 
to Olive, she recoiled, with a faint exclamation of 
dismay. 

‘‘ Why, Oily! don’t you know me?” said an un- 
changed voice; and Olive forgot her objectionable 
digits, her kitchen-apron and ironing day, and sprang 
forward to greet her sister. 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION, 


161 


“ Phemie ! tins can’t be you ! ” 

^ It is nobody else, at any rate, Oily ! How well 
you look ! I am glad I caught you in the kitchen. 
You would not be so completely the dear old Olive 
anywhere else. Don’t let me retard your work ! I 
will sit down here until you are through.” 

She was the old Phemie in ease and self-possession, 
in her faculty of saying the right thing in the right 
time and in few words. Even Jane recos^nized this 
quality of manner, as she had seen, at a glance, that 
her dress, although she wore a plain black reps, a 
black cloth cloak, and a shirred silk hat, without 
dowers, feathers, or, more tawdry than either, bugles, 
had a style of its own, far more elegant, and alto- 
gether unlike the costumes of the generality of Mrs. 
JBonney’s visitors. 

“This is Jane!” Olive said, wiping off the tears 
that had overtaken her at the unlooked-for meeting. 
“Jane, this is my sister, Mrs. Hart. We were just 
talking about you, Phemie. Wasn’t it queer ? ” 

Phemie bowed smilingly to the woman, and there- 
by completed her conquest. “How do you do, 
Jane? Mrs. Bonney has written to me of her good 
fortune in securing your services. What are you 
making. Oily ? One of your famous scallops, I de- 
clare ! How deliciously familiar it looks ! I recol- 
lect the savory odor as well as if I had seen it smok- 
ing on the table yesterday. How is Mr. Bonney ? 
And the baby? I heard of his arrival just before 
we left Europe He is two months old, now, isn’t 
he?” 


162 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


And four days,” said the proud mother. “ Come 
and see him ! ” 

But the scallop ? ” 

“ It can wait. I’ll just set it into the back kitchen 
to keep cool, and finish it by and by.- It requires 
only three-quarters of an hour to bake, you know,” 
said Olive, naively. 

She carried it into the back room ; washed her 
hands at the kitchen sink, and drawing her sleeves 
over her plump wrists, led the way to a neat dining- 
room, furnished for use rather than show. There, 
Master Joseph Mandell Bonney was discovered lying 
in state in a walnut cradle, muffled up to the chin in 
comfortable, sensible blankets, capped by a patch- 
work quilt that might have been, for its many colors, 
the skirt of Joseph’s coat. 

Isn’t he splendid ? ” whispered the mother, as her 
sister bent over the pink face and touched lightly, 
with a blending of reverence and wistfulness, that 
impressed Olive as odd, but beautiful and “ somehow 
sorrowful ” — the closed hand lying on the outside of 
the coverlet. 

He is a treasure above rubies,” was the answer. 
“ You have everything to make you happy, Olive.” 

“Haven’t I? Sit down!” said Olive, eagerl 3 ^ 
“ I was saying the same thing to Jane, not ten mi- 
nutes ago. I am afraid I am too contented, Phernie. 
You can have no idea of what a husband Joe is. He 
isn’t literary, of course, or I shouldn’t know how to 
talk to him ; but he has such excellent judgment and 
sound sense 1 and as for his temper, I couldn’t say 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


163 


enough in praise of it^ if I were to talk all day. 
Sick or well — and he does have shocking bilious 
turns, once in a while — he is always the same ; ready 
with a smile, or a kind word ; and you wouldn’t be- 
lieve what care he takes of me. After baby was 
born, he spent every minute he could spare from the 
store with me, and I could not have had a better 
nurse. He gave me my meals with his own hands, 
and was forever bringing me nice things to eat — fruit, 
and the like. My nurse said she had never seen 
such another man. Last Saturday he brought me 
home the prettiest black silk dress, ‘ to pay me for 
the boy,’ he said. Wasn’t it sweet and delicate in 
him ? He’s getting on nicely with his business, too. 
I was brought up to economical habits, you know, 
but if he does as well in future as he is doing now, 
we shall be quite rich in ten years. Emily — liave 
you seen Emily ? ” 

Ho. We only arrived last night. I came to you 
directly I had my breakfast.” 

‘‘ Where are you staying ? ” 

At the Lacroix Hotel. What about Emily ? ” 

“ I was going to say that Emily told me, the other 
day, that Seth says there is not a man in town, who 
has been in business so short a time as Joe has, whose 
name is more respected. I was so proud and happy 
when I heard that, I could have cried heartily. It is 
such a delight to be able to look up to one’s hus- 
band, you know, Phemie ? ” 

“ You are a good wife ! ” Phemie laid her 
hand affectionately upon her sister’s. “ I like to 


164 


PEEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


hear you talk of yourself and your household treas- 
ures. Baby is large of his age, isn’t he? I don’t 
know much about babies, but he seems to me a mar- 
vellously fine specimen for two months old.” 

Large ! I should think so ! ” Delighted Olive 
caught her up. “ He weighed ten pounds when he 
was born. Hurse said she hadn’t seen anotlier, like 
him in five years. And he is the best little thing ! 
He hardly ever cries except when he has the colic. 
All healthy babies have that, you know. He recog- 
nizes his father already. Whenever Joe comes in. 
Baby turns his eyes towards him, and twice he has 
laughed right out when his father had him in his 
arms. I have no trouble with him when papa is 
in the house. He tends him beautifully. One night, 
when he had the colic awfully^ the blessed man 
walked the fioor with him three hours without stop- 
ping. Yet he was quite angry the next day, when 
Jane said what a pity it was Baby had been so cross 
and broken his — Joe’s rest. ‘ Cross ! ’ said Joe, more 
fiercely than I had ever heard him speak before. 
‘ There’s not another child in the country that 
wouldn’t have cried twice as much with the same 
pain. He is never cross ; and as to my rest, I had 
rather walk with him than sleep, any night ! ” 

You have named him for his father, haven’t you ? ” 
“ Oh, yes ! Mother wrote that we must call him 
‘ Kowland,’ and dear Joe was for naming him Oliver 
after me. Miss Darcy said something witty about 
Kowland and Oliver. Joe can tell it to you exactly, 
but I always spoil a joke when I try to repeat it. 


PEEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


165 


But no, I said, lie should be his father’s ownt j-townty 
boy, and have his papa’s name, so he should.” She 
cooed the last sentence in the ear of the fat baby, 
stooping to lift him as he stretched out his dumpy 
arms and unclosed his pink lids. ‘‘ Come to its 
mother, beauty, and show Aunt Phemie that he has 
his papa’s eyes.” 

The paternal orbs being a light blue-gray, and so 
prominent as to convey the impression of distressing 
near-sightedness, the pulchritude of the scion was 
not enhanced by tlie revelation of the amazing like- 
ness between the two pairs ; but Phemie was in no 
humor for smiling, as she took the helpless little being 
into her arms and kissed its forehead. 

I wish you had one of your own, dear ! ” said 
Olive, fervently, moved by this appreciation of her 
darling to increased warmth of affection for the long- 
absent relative. 

‘‘ I would not leave you childless, even to have one 
for myself,” returned her sister. ‘‘ You were always 
a great baby-lover. Oily. Nobody deserves better to 
have him than you do^ — unless it be Joe. Wlien did 
you hear from mother ? ” 

A family talk ensued in which Phemie questioned, 
and Olive answered so diffusively and so much to her 
own satisfaction, that she was amazed when her sister 
arose to depart, with the announcement that it was 
eleven o’clock. 

“ I have to see Emily and then pay Miss Darcy a 
visit before our one o’clock luncheon,” she added, in 
apology for her haste. 


166 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


Stay and dine with us ! ” urged Olive. ‘‘ Or 
come back when you have been to Emily’s. Joe 
will be delighted to see you. He thinks you the first 
of living women still, although he loves me best. 
That is because I suit him better than you would 
have done. But he has the highest regard for you.” 

‘‘ Hot more than I have for him. I cannot stay, 
however, much as I want to meet him. It is possible 
that Mr.’ Hart may be in to luncheon, and if he 
should, he will expect to see me.” 

“ I haven’t had time to ask you about him! ” ejac- 
ulated Mrs. Bonney, conscience-smitten at her delin- 
quency. “ How is he ? The fact is, Phemie, I have 
never been able to think of you two as one. I 
never associate him with you in my mind.” 

That is easily explained. You have seen so lit- 
tle of us since we were married,” rejoined Phemie, 
quietly. He is well, thank you, and I suppose very 
busy. He has been away from home long enough to 
find a mountain of work accumulated against his re- 
turn.” 

I know! Seth and Joe were talking about that 
last Sunday night. They were wondering how he 
could be spared for so many months at a time. Seth 
said he wouldn’t trust any partner out of his sight 
for almost a year, I suppose, though, that Mr. Mal- 
lory is a reliable man, and that Mr. Hart understands 
his own business best. That’s what Joe remarked 
when Seth and Emily had gone home. He holds 
that everything connected with you should be per- 
fect.” 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


167 


“ He is very kind ! ” responded Phemie. Mr. 
Hart has entire confidence in Mr. Mallory. They 
have been friends for years.” 

“Do you always call him ‘Mr. Hart?’ How 
formal it sounds! ” said Olive, curiously. 

“ I' call him ‘ Kobert ’ when I speak to him, unless 
there are others by. I have fallen into the address 
you speak of, because we have been surrounded by 
strangers so long.” 

“ And you won’t stay to dinner ? ” Olive expostu- 
lated, attending her guest to the upper hall. “You 
don’t eat scallop, I know, nor mince pie ; but I will 
have potatoes, and milk, and brown biscuit. Joe 
always eats Graham bread.” 

“ Oh, I am not a strict vegetarian now ; I found 
it inconvenient while we were abroad. A taste for 
meat is one of the foreign liabits I have brought home 
with me. But I cannot stay to-day. I shall call 
again, soon.” 

“ Joe and I may run in to see you this evening,” 
suggested Mrs. Bonney. “ He will be wild to meet 
you, when he hears you are back: These are my 
parlors. Walk in!” 

With housewifely pride she opened a shutter, and 
let in the light upon the Brussels carpet, with its 
sprawling wreaths of stupendous flowers, unlike any 
floral fleaks displayed by Hature since the birth of 
Adam ; tlie hair-cloth, sofa-backed and bottomed 
chairs and lounges ; the bright mahogany centre- 
table and quartette of spiral-legged stands ; the em- 
broidered ottomans and mantel ornaments of very 


168 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


mock Parian. For the last gems of art, Oliv'e had 
bartered a huge bagful of cast-off clothing, includ- 
ing two pairs of Joe’s pantaloons, a coat, and a vest, 
so neglected before his marriage that his thrifty 
spouse sorrowfully pronounced them irreparable, and 
considered the groups of the sleeping shepherdess 
and sleepless fawn ; the two gentlemen in cocked 
hats, full-bottomed wigs and knee-buckles, playing 
chess, and the more touching tableau of the youth 
with powdered curls and rapier, holding fast to the 
waist of the lady, in stomacher, farthingale, and high- 
heeled slippers — so much clear gain. She called her 
sister’s attention to these, after allowing’ her time for 
a cursory survey of the apartments. 

“ I suppose you saw a great deal of this species of 
work abroad. We consider these very neatly -exe- 
cuted — really spirited casts.” 

She was astonished at her own command of art- 
phrases. It must have been the inspiration of the 
marbles. (?) 

“ We saw many celebrated statues,” rejoined the 
other. “ Oily ! I should have known who was the 
mistress of this house if I had entered it accidentally. 
Yon are the same neat busy-bee as ever. Tell Joe 
from me that his wife is a jewel — something better, 
for jewels have no intrinsic worth. Good-by, dear ! 
Cannot you spare a morning to me before long ? My 
rooms are Hos. 20 and 22. Come directly to them. 
You will always find me there between nine and 
twelve, unless I am here or at Emily’s. I am not 
half talked out.” 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION, 


169 


Olive was slightly disconcerted in rehearsing this 
one of their confabulations to her husband, to find 
how indifferent was her recollection of what Phemie 
had related concerning herself. She had arrived the 
preceding evening, and was staying, for the present, 
at the Lacroix, Nos. 20 and 22. Mr. Hart was well 
and busy, and might be in at luncheon- time, therefore 
she must return to the hotef, malgre the temptation 
of the scallop, and Joe’s company, and the baby’s, to 
whom “ she took wonderfully,” the mother related. 

“That was not surprising,” said Joe, who had the 
blessed infant upon his knees, trotting him gently 
over the boundaries dividing tlie waking from the 
sleeping world. 

“ Of course not, but Phemie isn’t given to extrava- 
ganzas, and the way she looked at and handled him 
really gratified me.” 

“ How is she looking ? ’’ 

“ Very well. Handsomer than ever. But she has 
a more settled air about her, and there is a little dif- 
ference in her manner of talking. She speaks lower 
and in a kind of ‘even-on’ way, you understand? 
She isn’t so bright and lively in her words and her 
way of bringing them out as she was when a girl. 
You used to think her sharp, and she was sometimes 
awfully satirical. It was her great fault. I am glad 
she has corrected it. One thing I didn’t like alto- 
gether, she has lightened her mourning more than 
Em and I have. Her hat was shirred black silk with- 
out a speck of crape about it, and she had on white 
under-sleeves and collar. I had not thought she 
8 


170 


PH^MIE'S TEMPTATION. 


would be in a hurry to lay off mourning for poor 
Charlotte. They were so fond of. one another. I do 
hope and pray that Phemie may not be growing into 
a heartless woman of the world ! ” 

Mrs. Hart’s luncheon and dinner toilets were utter- 
ly devoid of the insignia of woe. Mr. Hart did not 
make his appearance at the former meal, and his wife 
exchanged the brown silk she had* worn then for one 
more costly and showy as the evening drew on. The 
tint was that of a deeply- glowing ruby, the cut and 
finish were Parisian, and hei: ornaments were dia- 
monds. After many trials of the coiffeur’s skill, she 
had^ failed to discover a method of dressing her abun- 
dant hair that became her as did the old sweep from 
left to right across her broad forehead. It was a 
trifle outre^ her husband complained, but he acknowl- 
edged that it looked well on her, that she was not 
herself in appearance without the banded crown. 
Completing her costume by throwing about her su- 
perb shoulders a point-lace shawl, she took from a 
drawer of her dressing-cabinet a book and a letter — a 
sealed envelope — and passed into the adjacent parlor 
to await her husband’s coming. She was restless 
and fluttered by anxiety or expectancy, as was mani- 
fested by her laying the book and envelope, first upon 
the mantel, then on the table in the downward glare of 
^the chandelier, next on the piano at the back of the 
apartment, and finally shutting up both in her writ- 
ing desk, which she locked with a golden key sus- 
pended to her watch-chain. This disposed of, she was 
no more tranquil in feature or movement. She roam- 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


171 


ed from window to window, ran her fingers lightly 
over the keys of the piano-forte, picked up a book 
as she paused by the centre-table and turned the 
leaves abstractedly, and, standing upon the rug, the 
rich wine-color of her dress ruddying the polished 
marble of the mantel, interlaced her fingers nervous- 
ly and gazed down into the fire, rapt in deep or per- 
plexing thought. 

“If he should disapprove after all! And yet — 
how can he? It was a great venture for me. It 
seems to my unpractised eyes a great victory. It 
will be but an incident, and not an important one in 
his wider experience of literary experiments and suc- 
cesses. But he must be gratified 1 He will accord 
me sympathy and approbation. Dear Miss Darcy ! 
Her congratulations gave me the faint foretaste of 
the reward I shall know in his praises ! ” 

The agitated murmur hushed long before he 
came. It was fifteen minutes past the dinner hour 
when he appeared. He was not looking better for his 
year of travel. His complexion was less clear, his 
eye less pleasant, and to-night there was a jaded 
frown on his face that added years, not months, to 
his apparent age. 

“ Why did you wait for me ? ” he asked, as his 
wife received his hasty kiss. “ I have been driven like 
a dog all day. You didn’t expect me to luncheon, 
of course. I told you I should not be able to come.” 

“I am sorry you have had a fatiguing day 1 ” 
Phemie’s manner was unruffied now, her tone studi- 
ously gentle. “ Can I help you dress ? ” 


172 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


“ If you are in a hurry, you had better go down 
without me. Don’t ^ay here on my account; I beg. 
It drives me crazy to know you are waiting for rq,e ! ” 

‘^I am in no haste whatever. We can get our 
dinner as comfortably half an hour hence as now. I 
prefer entering the dining-room after the rush of 
hungry guests is over.” 

‘‘You say that because I am late,” rejoined the 
husband, from the threshold of the bedroom. * “I 
am obliged to you for your considerate ingenuity, but 
I do not acknowdedge the need of apologies for my 
tardiness. I came as soon as I could, and, as I have 
had occasion to remark several times before, I will 
not be schooled like a child ; be called to account for 
my movements by you or any one else.” 

Phemie had seated herself by the table facing the 
grate. Her eyes did not glisten nor her cheek pale 
at this pettish ebullition of her lord’s uncertain tem- 
per. He rarely threw her off her guard after a 
glance at his countenance had apprised her that fitful 
weather might be apprehended. Something had 
crossed him to-day, and he was tired and hungry. 
She had not lived with him eleven months and* not 
learned how sufficient was any one of these causes to 
disturb his equanimity. She had not learned, how- 
ever, that while the humor possessed him, her com- 
posure was fuel to the kindling flame, and that his 
sensations in reviewing his unquiet turns would have 
been more agreeable, or less unpleasant, had he suc- 
ceeded in striking from the flint of her temper an 
answering spark. * 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


173 


His bath and toilet had begun the work of renova- 
tion upon the inner man also when he rejoined her. 
She laid down the book she had caught up at hap- 
hazard that she might not be accused of sulky mop- 
ing, and looked up with a smile at his approach. 

“ I know you are worn out waiting for me, my 
dear,” he said, mollified to patronage by the amelio- 
rating infiuences just named ; “ but you must not lose 
sight, hereafter, of the fact that our holiday is over ; 
I cannot be your shadow here as when we were 
abroad. How, shall we go down ? ” ^ 

He was in a sunny mood by the time dinner was 
over. He was not, strictly speaking, efieminate, but 
he loved the good things of life — cheering wines, 
delicate and savory viands, handsome rooms, warm 
and light in winter, shaded to coolness in summer. 
A fine cigar or a chibouque of Turkish tobacco was 
welcome to his judicious palate and olfactories, and 
gently soothing to his soul. He liked sweet music, 
the sound of a well-modulated feminine voice, and he 
was very proud of his wife. Once back in their par- 
lor, he held her off at arm’s length, that he might 
fe^ist his eyes, and told her how surpassingly beauti- 
ful she was. 

‘‘ It would be too bad were all this magnificence 
wasted upon me,” he said, gayly. “ I should not be 
surprised if Mallory were to look in, by and by. He 
hinted at some such design. I shall be most happy 
to introduce you to him. His wife is a mere parcel 
of faded affectations, done up like a gaudy fashion- 
plate, when compared to you. You get handsomer 


174 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


every day, and, by Jove ! I believe yon know it, you 
vixen ! I am a fool to please you by telling you of it ! ” 
pinching her cheek. 

‘‘Indeed, I never cared for my good looks, Robert, 
except as they make you love me better and give you 
pleasure. I am glad you like me as I am to-night, 
for I have a confession to make, and I want to bribe 
'you to indulgent judgment. Sit down, and let me 
till and light your pet meerschaum.” 

The day had been, and not long before her marriage, 
when the smell of tobacco was odious to her, but she 
had conquered the repugnance, because he was a 
true lover of the weed. She produced the favorite 
pipe from its case, filled it and gave the amber stem 
into his hand, then kindled an allumette at the chan- 
delier, he watching, the while, the effect of the vivid 
falling light upon her upraised face, the graceful 
curve of her arm, from which the lace sleeve had 
slipped aside as she lifted it, and the harrtiony of her 
striking attire with her brunette beauty. It was a 
comfortable thing to have a picture like that before 
his eyes every evening, and to know that it was his — 
all his — ^and his alone. He had his mannerisms, l^^e 
the rest of the human race, and one of these was to 
talk largely of his love for the aesthetic. He said to 
himself, now, that he had proved his taste in this re- 
gard triumphantly in his selection of a wife. He 
wished a dozen of the best judges of anatomy, contour, 
and coloring in town were likely to drop in during 
the evening instead of Mallory, who had not a par- 
ticle of taste for pictures and statuary. 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 175 

Pheniie lighted his meerschaum, was repaid for the 
service by a kiss flavored with tobacco-smoke, and 
seated herself beside her sultan. 

“ You will hear me through before pronouncing the 
verdict, however unpromising the preamble may be ? ” 
she stipulated, and Robert engaged, between two 
whiffs of Latakia, to do as she wished. 







CHAPTEE IX. 



T the time of our marriage,” began Phernie, 
“ you insisted upon bearing the sole expense 
of Albert’s education at the Institute for the 
Blind, and carried your point in spite of my 
remonstrances.” 

“ There was no one else to pay the boy’s way, my 
child,” interrupted the husband, a sowpgon of con- 
tempt touching his patronizing indulgence. “ Your 
estimable brothers-in-law are not given to devising 
liberal things, and I knew it would distress you great- 
ly if your brother were withdrawn from school. I 
could not do less than to offer to maintain him tliere. 
I have never regretted the action. I grudge you^o 
gratification that money can procure.” 

“ I know it well — too well ! ” said Phernie, hastily. 
“You are the soul of generosity. But it did not 
seem just to me that yp,u should be burdened with 
the support of one not of your blood or kind, and 
Albert shared my feeling to the utmost. Before I 
parted from him, I assured him that his debt should 
be to me, and not to you. A sister has the right to 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 177 

assist a brother until he can take care of himself. 
Through a friend, I secured the place of foreign con’e- 
spondent to the WeeMy Post, of this city, and while 
abroad I sent home letters for this with tolerable 
regularity. They were nothing in themselves — were 
gossiping notes of what I saw and heard in those 
strange countries, but they met with favor on this 
side of the water, and I was paid well for them. The 
money was given to a person whom I had empowered 
to receive it, and appropriated to the payment of Al- 
bert’s board and tuition bills. The sum you left in 
bank for that purpose lies there still, untouched. 
Don’t speak yet, Robert ! Let me tell you why I 
acted thus. I have accepted all you have done for 
me personally, without objection or diffidence. But 
I had said to you when you asked me to marry you, 
that my relatives should never be clogs upon you. 
Albert is sensitive — foolishly proud, perhaps— but I 
was unwilling to add to the hardships of his condition 
the oppressive sense of obligation to one upon whom 
he had no legal claim. You are liberal to a fault, 
and appreciating this as we both do, it seemed the 
less expedient that we should avail ourselves of your 
noble offer. You are as truly Albert’s benefactor as 
if he had lived upon your bounty for the year which 
is past, and you have enjoyed the blessing of giving 
— the sweet consciousness that you had spared from 
3^our abundance the means to succor the needy. My 
plan has, all along, been this — to confess w’hat I had 
done, to you, on our return, and propose myself as 
your almoner in the work of distributing the moruey 
8 * 


178 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION'. 


intended for my brother among several needy families 
of which I have knowledge — whom I used to aid in 
such ways as my limited means would allow. I do 
not insult or pain you, by refunding the amount. I 
only divert it into other channels of benevolence. 

“ Please do not answer me yet ! ” with the pretty, 
appealing gesture she had used before to ward off the 
storm threatened by the lowering brow and parting 
lips. ‘‘You promised to hear me through. These 
letters were dashed off at odd moments, and I still 
had a superabundance of leisure upon my hands in 
the lazy, pleasant life we led abroad. One day it oc- 
curred to me to write a book. There was much in 
my mind and heart that I wanted to say. I longed 
to do my full work in the world, instead of living for 
my selfish gratification. If God had given me 
strength, it seemed to me that I should help the weak. 
If courage, I ought to cheer the desponding. If 
knowledge were mine, it should be shared with those 
who were now ignorant. Sometimes, when I was 
alone and thoughtful, the strong necessity of expres- 
sion bore upon me with terrible weight. I dared not 
keep silence. The yearning over the weary-hearted, 
the poor in spirit, the afflicted of my kind, was to me 
like the inspiration of my guardian angel. I wrote 
it all down — or all that I could set down in written 
words — and sent it, through a friend, to Mr. Mallory. 
He had no intimation that I was the author. He 
does not suspect it yet, but his reader approved of the 
manuscript, and the book was published two months 
ago. He wrote to you about it, and the mystery at- 


PHEMmS TEMPTATION. 


179 


tending the authorship. The critics have dealt very 
leniently with it, and the reading public take to it 
kindly. Here it is ! ” She brought it forward, and 
bent her knee in playful homage, as she presented it. 

I ordei:ed that one copy should be bound in your fa- 
vorite style, as a gift to you — my husband ! ” 

She stood before him, with wistful eyes and palpi- 
tating heart, while he unclosed the elegant volume. 
The sealed envelope dropped from between the leaves, 
and several slips of printed paper, apparently clipped 
from newspapers. He opened the former first. It 
contained four checks, he recollected to have given 
his wife at different times, to be forwarded to Mr. 
Mandell, or whomsoever she might select as the 
fittest person to receive arid pay Albert’s quarterly 
bills. 

An angry flash went over his countenance, as he 
recognized them. He examined each to assure him- 
self that it was genuine ; laid them evenly together, 
tore the four through the middle at one spasm of 
finger-fury, and tossed the fragments into the grate. 
Phemie uttered an exclamation, as of one who had 
been, struck sharply across the face ; put her hands 
before her eyes and sat down, without another sound, 
her fingers still pressed hard upon her lids to drive 
back the tears, or shut out the sight of his white, 
mute wrath. She heard the rustle of the printed 
extracts, as he . unfolded them. They were critical 
notices of her work, from papers for which she knew 
he had great respect, all complimentary of the style, 
aim, and plot of the anonymous volume, and pro- 


180 


PHEMIW8 TEMPTATION, 


plietio of a brilliant and useful career to the author. 
Mr. Hart glanced them over, laying each aside as he 
finished it, with very much the same action as that 
which had committed the checks to the fiames. 

‘‘ You would like to keep these, I suppose,” he 
said, dryly, when the last was huddled with the 
others into a little heap, and pushed to the opposite 
side of the centre-table. “If you were familiar as I 
am with the machinery of critic-making, you might 
not treasure them so carefully. Mallory was talking 
to me about this book to-day. He has expended a 
ridiculously large sum in advertising, which includes 
puffing. We have a first-class puffer connected with 
our establishment. These were undoubtedly paid 
for by the firm at so much per line.” 

He waited for an answer, but none came. Pheinie 
sat, still and silent, looking into the fire, where the 
charred papers were changing into gray gossamer 
the inky characters still blacklj?- distinct upon them. 
Mr. Hart collected his thoughts and words while 
relighting the pipe he had let go out in listening to 
his wife’s story. 

“ I will not do your understanding injustice by 
imagining for a moment, Phemie, that you hoped to 
give me pleasure by the course you have pursued 
with reference to Albert, and in your literary enter- 
prise. You must have foreseen, from the beginning 
of your clandestine operations, that the knowledge of 
them could bring me nothing but pain and mortifica- 
tion. They are fresh and more decided developments 
of your wilful purpose to live and act independently 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


181 


of me — to assert tins in.clependence, and, in time, 
yonr sovereignty. Without suspecting what was 
your occupation at those hours which I was compelled 
to pass out of your society — certainly with no mis- 
givings that you were abusing the confidence I re- 
posed in you by preparing a plan for my discomfit- 
ure, I have yet felt, for many months, that our lives 
were being sundered, instead of united, by every 
day we lived together. Your interests, views, sympa- 
thies, tastes — have become more and more unlike 
mine from the day of our marriage until now. In 
the pride of intellect, which is your besetting sin, 
you have learned to look down upon your husband as 
a being of a lower sphere ; have panted for distinction 
and popular applause ; have, according to your own 
confession, found the course of your married life tame 
and insipid ; its duties and enjoyments inadequate to 
fill the measure of your cravings — ‘ your spirit-needs,’ 
I believe that is the accepted phrase. Most women 
ask no happier and higher lot than to make their 
homes happy to the men of their choice ; find their 
mission in the ‘ queen dom of a simple wife.’ You 
once dreamed, or told me you dreamed that it would 
be the same with you. There was no talk about the 
‘ strong necessity ’ of a wider field of action then ! ” 

The pipe needed very hard puffing to rekindle it, 
just here. He resumed, when this was achieved: 

“ That you are dissatisfied and ambitious is not my 
fault. I have nothing with which to charge myself 
in the failure of your expectations. I say it in no 
vainglorious spirit, but in sheer self-justification 


182 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


against the accusations implied by your discontent ; 
but not many husbands have striven more zealously 
and constantly than I to secure the happiness of a 
wife. I have given you foreign travel ; access to 
works of art you had never dared hope to see ; money 
and refined society in place of a life of toil and isola- 
tion from all elevating infiuences. I required in re- 
turn only your affection and your contentment with 
the destiny I had brought you. If your love equalled 
mine for. you, the longings you describe would never 
have beset you. If you had rightly understood and 
valued my devotion, you would not have insulted me 
by hurling back upon me my well-meant gift to your 
brother, with the arrogant declaration that you could 
provide for those of your own blood, and asked no 
favors at the hands of an alien.” 

“ Oh, Kobert 1 ” Phemie made an impetuous move- 
ment toward Kim. 

He stopped her by a magisterial wave of the hand. 
‘‘ May I ask the same degree of indulgence froni you 
that you demanded from me while you made your 
address ? I have not your command of language, but 
I will try to make myself intelligible. You decline, 
as does your brother, your pupil and confidant, to re- 
ceive pecuniary assistance from your husband. You 
let me go on, pleasing myself with the notion that I 
have benefited him and made him happy by so doing 
for twelve months, you, meanwhile, laughing in your 
sleeve at the idiotic complacency of your dupe. Your 
accredited agent in the pious fraud practised upon 
the husband who loved and trusted you, was, doubt- 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


183 


less,, your bosom friend and trainer, Miss Darcy. 
The project reveals the parentage at the first blush.” 

Phemie looked up as if to speak, but recollected 
the injunction to silence. 

“ I have made no secret to you of my opinion of 
that woman. I may observe here, parenthetically, 
that from you I have had no reserves. I have repeated 
to you the glaring insult she ofiered me in exchange 
for my confidence when I told her of my love for you. 
She taunted me with my inferiority to you, and 
warned me that this would become more manifest 
the longer we lived together — that simple love, the 
ofiering up of a whole nature and existence to your 
service, wonld not content your aspiring spirit. Tell 
her from me, as I doubt not you have already done 
for yourself in action, if not in words, that she was 
a true prophetess; that the seed she scattered in 
your mind fell upon good soil and bids fair to bring 
forth fruit to her delight, to your glory, and my con- 
fusion. In this book you have ventilated the princi- 
ples with which she has indoctrinated you. Mallory 
tells me it has taken tremendously with strong-minded 
females and radicals, and your editorial critic^ mean 
the same thing when they laud your ‘ enlarged views,’ 
your ‘ breadth and vigor of thought,’ and your ‘ earn- 
est philanthropy.’ You have written a readable book 
— one that will increase the amount of your private 
hoard and enable you to befriend as many more rela- 
tions as you please to help. But you have unsexed 
yourself, and built a wall of distrust between yourself 
and me. Hereafter — or so soon as the real name of 


184 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION, 


the now anonymous novelist is known — we shall be 
enrolled before the public as ^Mrs. Hart and husband.'^ 
The title sounds agreeably in your ears, I suppose. 
It is a matter of no consequence how it impresses me. 
I should forget my loss of manliness, as the husbands 
of other distinguished Mesdames Jellyby have to do, 
while their spouses honor them by living under the 
same roof with them — by sunning myself in the re- 
flection of your fame.” 

In his exasperation at the picture he had drawn 
he resigned his pipe altogether and stood up, rearing 
his flne figure to its full height, stamping the left boot- 
heel, then the right, upon the velvet rug, and pluck- 
ing, in an irritated way, at his beard, assertive of phy- 
sical manliness if his intellectual supremacy were 
menaced by his subordinate’s audacity. 

Still Phemie was mute, and did not alter her posi- 
tion. There were dreary depths in her brown eyes 
he did not see, and which he could not have fathomed 
if he had. If he had looked closely he would have 
noted the quiver of the nostril and the squarer out- 
line of the lower jaw, within which the locked teeth 
kept the tongue a prisoner ; but he thought her cal- 
lous or defiant. A turn through the room brought 
him back to the hearth-rug, where he assumed ano- 
ther eminently masculine attitude, planting himself 
in the centre, his back to the fire, his hands crossed 
under his coat-skirts, and his legs well apart. 

“ I know more of literary women than you do. It 
is politic for a man in my business to treat them with 
a certain degree of respect and politeness. But I 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


185 


detest the class. They are the most arrant and ob- 
trusive set of egotists under heaven. They write 
their own lives over and over, until the public taste 
revolts, and then they make capital of their friends. 
The best of them are wretched copyists — and the best 
are few in number. Their loves, their hates, their 
griefs, are so much available capital to be served up 
in strongly italicized manuscript at whatever they 
can get per page. They are mercenary to a proverb 
— grasping and grinding, with all their talk of doing 
good, helping the weak and the like bosh. They 
write for money ! money ! and the only way to quench 
their genius is not to pay them. The ‘ strong neces- 
sity of expression ’ deserts them forthwith when said 
expression brings no return in current bank-notes.” 

He stamped again, shaking each foot as if his knees 
had suddenly grown too big for his pantaloons. 

Phemie raised her eyes after a minute. 

“ May I speak now ? ” 

“ Don’t affect any slavish airs, Phemie I I have 
not tried to gag you ! ” he said, roughly, nettled by 
the calm courtesy of the request. 

She had him at a disadvantage already. 

“With regard to the provision for my brother’s 
tuition, I can only reiterate my assertion that I was 
actuated by no unworth}^ motives in undertaking the 
task. Excepting Albert and m^^self, my brother-in- 
law, Mr. Bonney, is the only person who knows that 
your design was not carried into effect. Mr. Bonney 
is the friend of whom I spoke as authorized by me to 
receive and pay out the proceeds of my contributions 


186 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


to the Post. He has never spoken of it, even to his 
wife.” 

‘‘ This accomplished gentleman was hardly the 
sponsor of your published volume, I take it,” sneered 
Eobert. “If he was, the negotiations must have 
been of an original character.” 

“ He was not. I transmitted the MS. to Miss 
Darcy because I had no other literary acquaintance 
whom I could trouble with it. She knew it was in- 
tended as an agreeable surprise to you. She shall 
never hear through me that I have been disappointed 
in my hope. If I had surmised that you would be 
displeased with me for attempting authorship, I would 
never have penned a line. You encouraged me to 
study and write before our marriage ” — 

*“ As a means of procuring your livelihood ! ” he 
interrupted. “As my wife, you are raised above such 
necessity.” 

Phemie did not retort upon him wdth his invective 
against those who rode Pegasus for the plate he 
might win. She bent her head, instead, with proud 
humility, in replying. 

“ I am — and I thank you for it ! I have no am- 
bition to acquire wealth, or even a moderate com- 
petence by my own labor. I have stated my reasons 
for writing. Hot the least incentive that urged me 
to the work was the anticipation of your approval. 
You had often expressed your pride in my quickness 
of intellect, and I longed to justify it. I sincerely 
believed that whatever applause I might win from 
competent judges of such productions would be as 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 187 

miicli and more to yon than to me. I could not see 
how it could be otherwise.” 

“ Thank you ! ” with an ironical bow, ‘‘ I do not 
'care to soar upon borrowed pinions — least of all, when 
my wife is the lender.” 

“ I can say no more ! ” said Phemie, in patient 
despair. “ I have made a great mistake. If I could 
correct it — undo what I have done — unsay what I 
have said, I would leave you no room for complaint.” 

“ I have not complained. I do not seek to abridge 
your liberty. If you are emulous of martyrdom, 
you will not receive it from me. The fault is not in 
what you have done, but in the feeling that prompted 
the act. It would be no reparation to me were you 
to hold your hands in enforced idleness, while your 
spirit chafed at the bonds laid upon you by my 
wishes. I have failed utterly and ignominiously in 
tilling the desires ’of your heart and mind. Miss 
Darcy said it would be so — that she knew you better 
than I did. She spoke sound and sober truth for 
once. I wish I had believed her then ! ” 

Pobert ! are you sorry that you married me ? ” 

‘‘ That question is the prompting of your own mis- 
givings, not a legitimate inference from anything I 
have said,” returned the ill-used husband, majesti- 
cally. ‘‘I submit it to your consciousness whether I 
have ever come so far short of my duty as to justify 
you in asking it.” 

‘‘ I do not in the least comprehend how we reached 
this point,” said Phemie, in piteous bewilderment. 
“I have displeased and wounded you, and I would 


188 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


make amends. Cannot I withdraw this book from 
circulation?” eying it with a look of abhorrence. 
“ It shall never be known that 1 wrote it, come what 
may ; but I would have it die out of the public mind 
entirely.” 

‘‘ There it is ! Trust a woman to rush to extremes 
when her slightest wish is thwarted ! Tell her she is 
a little lower than the angels, and she perversely de- 
clares she is worse than the devils ! Who said any- 
thing about suppressing the work ? It is readable, 
according to the critics, and is selling tolerably well. 
You took sweet delight, found divine comfort in the 
miseries of your association with an uncongenial 
partner in writing it. Keep your bantling ! It is 
nothing to me. If you write no more, it will be an 
incessant reproach to my cruelty — a fine text for 
Miss Darcy in her next lecture upon w^oman’s wrongs. 
You have chosen your path ; I shall not seek to di- 
vert your feet from it.” 

At this juncture of the dialogue a rap was heard 
at the door, and Phemie escaped to her chamber, for- 
getting the hapless gift-volume left lying upon the 
table. She heard the hearty salutation exchanged in 
the other room, and, foreseeing that she would pre- 
sently be summoned to appear, had instant recourse 
to her usual expedient -for checking hysterical emotion 
— to wit — bathing her face, eyes, temples, and wrists 
freely in cold water. She had hardly dried the evi- 
dences of the bath that had served her in lieu of that 
prime resort of suffering feminity — a good cry ” — 
when Pobert came in. 


■PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


189 


“ Mallory is in the parlor, and wants to see you. 
Will you come in ? 

His cold, injured tone was not inviting, but Phe- 
mie’s response was ready. ‘‘With pleasure!” she 
said, and followed him into the presence of his friend. 

“ I believe I had the pleasure of knowing Mrs. 
Hart slightly in her early youth,” said the suave 
partner, bowing over the lady’s hand. “ My sisters 
remember you well and affectionately. Clara would 
have accompanied me to-night, had she not been pre- 
vented by a prior engagement. Mrs. Mallory desired 
me to present her regrets that a severe headache kept 
her at home, when she would gladly have been 
among the earliest to welcome you back to America.” 

Hot one word of which Euphemia believed, as she 
scanned his cunning eyes and bland mouth, each giv- 
ing the lie positive and direct to the other. The 
introduction was barely over, when there was a fresh 
importation of guests — Mr. and Mrs. Bonney. Phe- 
mie went forward to greet them without outward 
tokens of perturbation, but with a mind distraught 
and a failing heart. Her relatives could not have 
chosen a more inopportune season for their visit. 
Her reception of them was affectionate, although she 
felt the import of Olive’s start and stare at sight of 
her gay attire, and the dignified reproach she tried 
to infuse into her address. “ Ah, Phemie ! I did not 
know you when we came in.” 

With an ostentatious flirt of her mourning veil, and 
a lugubrious demeanor, she passed the delinquent to 
speak to her brother-in-law. If Phemie’s transgres- 


190 


PEEMIW8 TEMPTATION. 


sion was levity, Mi% Hart should have atoned for it by 
his saturnine smile and frigid civility. Mr. and Mrs. 
Joseph Bonney were well-enough people in their walk 
of life, but they were the antipodes of fashionable, 
and Mallory would carry home to his wife and sisters, 
who were fashionists, a truthful description of the 
pair. By the time it was Joe’s turn to salute his 
host, the latter might have been a galvanized iron 
statue, or anything else grim and forbidding, so in- 
sufficient was his courtesy to the demands of the try- 
ing occasion. They all sat down, when reception and 
introduction were through ; Mr. Hart, stately and 
cross ; Joe abashed ; Olive slowly recovering fVom the 
slight put upon “ poor, dear Charlotte,” by Phemie’s 
ruby silk; Mr. Mallory politely reserved until the 
greetings of the kinspeople should be accomplished, 
and Phemie desperate. 

How is the little man to-night ? ” she interrogated 
her sister. ‘‘ He is too young to pay evening calls, I 
suppose ? ” 

‘‘ He is very well, thank you ! ” rejoined Olive, 
with extreme gravity. “ Or, I should not be here,” 
accompanied by a glance intended to convey the self- 
gratulation, — “ I know what is due to Qny family ; 
have some remnants of affection Tor them — thank 
Heaven ! ” 

It w^as not lost upon Phemie, but she turned to Joe 
with un diminished cordiality. He is very like you, 
Mr. Bonney.” 

“ What airs ! ” said Olive’s retrousse nose. She 
won’t call him ‘Joe,’ because there are two grand 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. ' 


191 


gentlemen by. Thank Heaven ! ” (again), “ I am not 
ashamed of my relatives ! ” 

“ Do you think so? ” simpered Joe, in reply to his 
sister-in-law. 

Hot being able, in the rebuking presence of his 
wife, and under the shadow of the hostly iceberg, to 
think of anything else to say, he looked like a fool. 

In compassion to his sheepishness, Phemie returned 
to Olive. “ I saw Emily to-day. She is not looking 
very well, I think. I am afraid her health is less 
firm than it used to be.” 

“Emily is very domestic,” Olive stated, her eyes 
upon the point-lace shawl. “ She never neglects her 
home duties or allows anything to take the place of 
her family in her mind. Perhaps she does look a little 
worn out. She has never been quite herself since poor 
Charlotte’s death. There are some hearts ” — study- 
ing the pattern of Phemie’s diamond brooch — “ that 
cherish the memory of a friend longer than others.” 

Joe colored and looked down. Mr. Hart’s lip 
twitched contemptuously. Phemie appeared not to 
feel the lash that curled about her lace-veiled shoul- 
ders. Perhaps, upon the principle that obtains in 
regions infested by mosquitoes and gad-fiies, where 
the process of acclimation is to be stung all over, the 
most impudent of the minute tormentors never pre- 
senting his bill where one of his brethren has pre- 
viously settled. 

“ How cold it has grown since morning ! ” Phe- 
mie essayed a general, and, she hoped, a perfectly 
safe topic. 


192 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


“ Do you think so ? ” answered the unappeased 
Olive, “l^ow, I was saying to Joe, as we came 
along, that the weather was unusually mild for thev 
season. But we jimerican ladies adapt our dress to 
the climate. I suppose you have thoroughly adopted, 
the fashions and become accustomed to the air of 
Paris. Most travelled ladies can live nowhere else.” 

A gay exclamation from Mr. Mallory interrupted 
the uncomfortable scene. “ Proved ! ” he cried, 
holding up the presentation volume he had taken 
from the table. This is the copy which was pre- 
pared at the request of the author. I have confir- 
mation strong of what my sister Clara has affirmed 
from the first. In our anxiety to discover the name • 
of the author of the most popular novel of the day, 
we divided a portion of the MS. after the book was 
issued, into separate sheets, and showed tliem to a 
number of friends, mostly literati, hoping to identify 
the ]!^ameless by means of her chirography. My 
sister, chancing to see one of these, declared it to be 
your handwriting, Mrs. Hart, and so closely did it 
correspond with that of certain notes, received by 
her in her school days, that my own suspicions were 
excited by the circumstance. I caused search to be 
made for the MS. of a little volume — a compendium 
of chemistry, which we published for you, two years 
or more since, but it could not be found. I sounded 
Hart, here, dexterously upon the subject to-day, but 
was soon convinced that he knew nothing of the matter 
— less even than did I — or that he had become a profi- 
cient in diplomatic concealment under your tutelage.” 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


193 


His laughing exultation faded perceptibly, as he 
glanced from the clouded face of the husband to the 
impassive one of the wife. 

‘‘ I beg your pardon, if I have made an incautious 
revelation, but I supposed as there were only friends 
here ” — his eye passing to the astounded Bonneys — 
that I might congratulate you upon the eminent 
success of your work, and the skill with which you 
have heretofore maintained your incognita. I pledge 
myself for the company present that there shall be 
no violation of this in general gossip, or in print, 
should you object to the disclosure. It would be a 
grand card for our house, though. Hart — the story 
that one of our firm could get up a book like this.” 

“ Hardly one of the firm,” replied the other, coolly. 
“ It is a private venture of Mrs. Hart’s. I had no 
idea that she was infected with the cacoethes sorihendiy 
until this evening, when she exhibited the proof in 
Bussia antique, bevelled edges and cream-tinted 
paper. I could not have been more amazed had she 
chosen to appear in full Bloomer costume.” 

Olive tittered, and Joe opened his mouth with such 
an effort, one could have fancied that his jaws 
creaked. ‘‘ It is called a fine thing, I believe,” he 
said, pointedly, to Mr. Mallory. “ Everybody who 
has read it speaks well of it./'^I have never enjoyed! 
a book more, although I didn’t know who wrote it. \ 
1 am not much of a reader, and no critic, but I like 
what goes to my heart and makes me feel better and 
happier. You have done a great deal of good, 
Phemie, and you ought to be proud of it. My 


9 


194 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


thanks are worth as little, maybe, as my opinion, 
but I do thank you for the pleasure and profit I have 
derived from your work. I hope you will live to 
write a hundred more as good and interesting.” 

There were dew and fire in Phemie’s eyes, and the 
faint tremble of a smile about her mouth as she 
bowed her gratitude. ‘‘You are kind to tell me so ! 
It is I who should thank you.” 

While she said it, a thought smote her like a 
stiletto. “ Has it then come to this, that Joe Bonney 
is my champion against my husband ? ” 

Mr. Mallory was acute enough, and sufficiently 
versed in his partner’s weaknesses to take in the sit- 
uation, and enjoyed it maliciously. “ Mr. Bonney is 
a truthful exponent of popular opinion,” he said, 
shedding his bland smile lavishly over Joe. “ And 
as for you. Hart, you are an ungrateful dog not to be 
overjoyed at your wife’s glory. Genius is always 
modest, but there . is no rule that dalls for shame- 
facedness on your part, unless it be that yours is 
the natural diffidence of the moon when the sun is 

V” 

You have hit it exactly,” Robert roused himself 
to say, with a grating laugh. “The suddenness 
of the eclipse has taken my breath away — that is 
all.” 

The Bonneys had little encouragement in the geni- 
ality of the company to prolong their stay. 

“ I had not patience to sit a minute longer ! ” said 
Olive to her spouse, during their homeward walk. 
“ To see her bedizened like a queen or — or — an ac- 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


195 


tress, in that flaming red silk and flimsy white shawl 
— the two together cost as much as her year’s salary 
used to be — and proud as a peacock of her flne 
clothes and elegant rooms, and the compliments you 
men were loading her with about her new book ! I 
declare, it was enough to make the hair stand up on 
one’s head, when poor, dear Charlotte hasn’t been 
in her grave sixteen months, and the very least de- 
cency requires of the near relatives is to wear crape 
and bombazine for two full years. And she to dress 
up in black when she came to call on me, to deceive 
me into the idea that she was in mourning still ! Did 
you ever hear of such hypocrisy ? ” 

“ I don’t think Pheniie is a hypocrite, my dear,” 
objected Joe, mildly. I have no doubt she took 
off black for some good reason — probably to please 
her husband. He is just the sort of man to be un- 
reasonable in such matters, and she is the kind of 
woman to give up her own tastes and feelings to 
gratify him. I am afraid he does not appreciate 
her. He was always a conceited fellow, and to me, 
now, he is unbearable. We shall always be glad to 
see Phemie in our house. Oily. Don’t be hasty in 
your judgment of what you don’t understand and 
don’t like about her. If there is any change, it is of 
his making, not hers. As I said, she shall always be 
welcome in our house, but don’t ask me to go there 
again when Hart is at home. I won’t do it ! ” 

When Mr. Mallory took his leave, his partner vol- 
unteered to accompany him a few blocks on his way. 
Phemie, left alone, gathered up her book and the 


196 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


newspaper notices, and crept away with them to her 
room, where she locked them out of sight in the 
bottom of her trunk, and knelt beside it to pray, her 
arm embracing it and her head laid upon it, as 
painters portray mourners over fresh graves. 







% '■ 



CHAPTER X. 


HART was the belle of that year and 
^ town and at watering-places. 

The eclat of her beauty and conversational 
talents was heightened by the flattering 
reputation she had gained by her book, 
especially whefi the gay world discovered that she 
was not a bit of a blue ” — quite as accessible as a 
woman who could not spell ten consecutive words 
correctly, and with no more nonsense about her than 
characterized the sweet creatures who did not know 
the difference between writing a book and publish- 
ing one, and who lisped behind her back “ how queer 
it was that the first people should have taken her up 
so ! Wasn’t she a printer, or an author, or some- 
thing else low ? ” 

Mr. Hart had hired a handsome house the spring 
of his return, furnished it, and thrown open his doors 
to his former friends and such new ones as were 
attracted by his hospitality, his wife’s renown as a 
hostess and a charming woman, and the delightful 
reunions for which his abode had ^ecome celebrated. 


198 


PEEMIW8 TEMPTATION. 


Lest I should seem remiss in crediting with a just 
share of exclusiveness the circle that had embraced 
him as a member in his bachelor days, I remark that 
the gates on golden hinges turning ” gave reluctant 
entrance for a time to the handsome and gifted, but 
“ so obscure ” person he had endowed with his name 
and fortune. There were horrible whispers in circu- 
lation about her former station and calling, and 
patrician noses sniifed the taint of her vulgar antece- 
dents with keenness worthy of the owners of pedi- 
grees a generation and a half old. She lived through 
it and lived it down, partly by her innate ladyhood, 
principally by means of her husband’s reputed 
wealth, his assured social standing, and the facilities 
afforded for flirtations, dancing, music, and elegant 
suppers by his resolve to place himself and his wife 
in the foremost rank of the fashionable world. He 
moved forward to the accomplishment of this end 
without consultation with his co-worker. If she had 
her ambition, he had his. He believed the more 
readily that she courted popularity as an end, not as 
a means, because he was aware how far the desire to 
acquit himself gallantly in the sight of his fellows, 
to be noticed and praised and imitated, entered into 
his philanthropic and social schemes. Self-conceit 
with him often took a more pleasing guise than the 
commoner manifestations of puppy-like vanity and 
straining after theatrical effect. 

He cultivated a gracious and graceful honhomie 
to all classes, and disdained the responsive tribute of 
applause and good-will from none. Mallory was 


PEEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 199 

generally known to be the shrewder and more sordid 
man of the two, but Hart’s rdle in the business was 
prominent and important. He had the gift of in- 
gratiating himself with otherwise unmanageable par- 
ties ; of conciliating the irate, and, as his partner 
expressed it, “doing the universally popular.” In 
this line his fine personal appearance, his easy, plea- 
sant laugh, and his love of playing the munificent 
patron worked up to advantage, and brought him in 
large returns of the coin he liked, best — fiattering 
notice wherever he went ; made of him a man of mark 
in his orbit. 

We have seen how his love for Phemie Rowland 
broke in upon his bright, smooth life like the burst 
of a mountain torrent ; tearing up the foundations of 
conventional piiejudice ; carrying before it reason, ex- 
pediency — everything that should have dissuaded him 
from the mad course toward which he found himself 
impelled. He loved popular approval, but he loved 
his own ease and happiness better — better than he did 
the woman he professed to adore. She intoxicated 
his senses ; took his imagination captive ; and when 
senses and fancy were sobered by possession, he began 
slowly — at first, unwillingly — to acknowledge to him- 
self that he had not acted wisely — for Robert Hart — 
in marrying out of his sphere. So long as she ren- 
dered him the unquestioning devotion of a grateful 
underling — ^fed his self-love with her deferential ad- 
miration, he was ready, in turn, to account her fault- 
less. But when a few unguarded phrases indicative 
of extreme selfishness and puerile pettishness had 


200 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


fallen from him, and the upward regards of her beau- 
tiful eyes changed to calm self-restraint; when she 
learned to he cautious of exciting his ill-humor, and, 
in her sincerity, w^as less demonstrative of expressions 
of unbounded confidence in his judgment ; less enthu- 
siastic in her avowals of affection; the work of mutual 
disenchantment progressed with lamentable rapidity. 
She had overrated him — his character and his mental 
powders. . His was not the heart or the comprehen- 
sion to appreciate rightly that which was most noble 
in her. 

From the unfortunate evening, the main event of 
which was chronicled in our last chapter, the subject 
of her literary labors was not mentioned - between 
them. This reserve did not imply absolute estrange- 
ment. Love, the Healer, • has a faculty, all and 
beautifully his own, of salving over heart-wounds, 
however deep and gaping, so long as inconstancy 
had no part in producing them. There may be in 
the breast, both of husband and wife, many closed 
chambers, sealed with the signet ‘‘Hevermore,” and 
Love still reign, undisputed, although not glad 
sovereign of the whole. It was a curious, and soon 
a recognized fact among those who met the Harts 
habitually, that homage paid to Phemie’s beauty, 
manners, and dress was acceptable to her lord, as 
praise of her intellectual gifts was distasteful. He 
would survey her with a delighted smile that won for 
him the reputation of uxorious fondness, as she sailed 
down the dance, or moved slowly through a crowd of 
pleasure- seekers, scattering smiles and light words as 


PHEMIW8 TEMPTATION. 


201 


she went, and leaving after her a wake of admiring 
glances and whispered compliments to her imperial 
loveliness. He never doubted, at such moments, that 
he loved her, never questioned the propriety of the 
step that had made him the owner of this glorious 
accessory to his importance and reputation as a man 
of fashion and taste. She was his wife, and none 
could name her without remembering whose property 
she was ; at whose pleasure she sparkled, or was with- 
drawn from the visible firmament of belles. 

His control over her in these respects was absolute. 
With her, when he said “ Shine ! ” it was literally as 
the heathen centurion — whose faith stands the re- 
buking monument to doubting believers — described 
the stern discipline to which he had been bred — “ Do 
this, and it was done.'’ Done ; but, if without hesi- 
tation, also without joyousness. She never cavilled 
at his will, but she never applauded his mandates. A 
cunning woman would have added to the power her 
charms gave her over him, the more subtle influence 
of flattery of his caprices, indulgence of his humors. • 
Phemie was too honest for cajolery. She could obey 
an unreasonable behest, but she would not aver that it 
was the acme of wisdom, or even act as if obedience 
were a delight. She walked through the routine of 
gayety and hospitality appointed by him with pains- 
taking fidelity — the tranquil mien and immovable 
perseverance that had distinguished her discharge of 
the duties incumbent upon her as Mr. Arnold’s book- 
keeper. If she felt the separation from her friend, 
Miss Darcy, and the gradual widening of the distance 
9 * 


202 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


dividing her sisters’ lives of homely domesticity from 
hers, she never breathed it. To whom should she vent 
her regret? She rarely saw Miss Darcy. She could 
not be a welcome guest in Kobert’s house, and she 
never came to it. Albert, whom Phemie often had 
with her, was Kobert’s beneficiary, and blissfully 
ignorant of the sunken rocks beneath a sea that 
smiled so fair, while Emily and Olive plainly and not 
amiably resented her superior wealth and degree, 
and condemned unsparingly what they termed her 
‘‘ foreign follies.” 

If the celebrity attendant upon Mr. Mallory’s pro- 
clamation of her authorship were dust and ashes 
between her husband’s teeth, it was to her a cup of 
wormwood, continually presented to her lips less by 
the untimely, or well-turned praises of strangers and 
officious acquaintances, than by the averted look, 
the cold word, or colder silence which were some of 
Kobert’s methods of expressing his disrelish of the 
topic. She had schooled herself to repress the exhi- 
bition of her loathing of what was meant to please 
and to reward ; had studied the set phrase of digni- 
fied acceptance ; of modest disclaim ; the gentle 
smile that thanks the appreciative critic ; the dex- 
terous play of words that repays compliment with 
compliment, and changes the grateful giver into the 
gratified recipient. There were few who excelled 
her in these arts. Her* husband, looking on grimly 
at the hollow show, pricked his wounded vanity into 
sullen fury at the spectacle. He disdained to inter- 
fere. He had given his views in full on this head, 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


203 


at the outset of her “ independent ” career. By 
every smile and word that met the fulsome flatteries 
of what should be her sorrow, not her glory, she laid 
another stone of the wall rising between them. If, 
with her eyes open to this consequence of her insane 
aspirations, she was so unwomanly as to aspire to 
heights he could not climb, the work was hers, and 
the alienation not of his choosing. 

Toward the close of the third year of their wedded 
life, she noted a new phase of conduct in him — one, 
not attributable, so far as she knew, to any fresh 
indiscretion or misdemeanor of hers. His moody 
fits were chronic — when they were not in company 
— impenetrable, and incurable by any means of 
which she had knowledge. Yet that she was, in 
some way, mixed up in his causes of discontent she 
was led to believe by his increasing surliness; by the 
gloomy stare she often found bent upon her, during 
his long seasons of sulky revery, and the circum- 
stance that his brow cleared at the entrance of a 
chance visitor, while in general society he was lively 
to hilariousness. She asked no explanation of this 
singular behavior, or of the long absences, extending 
deep into each night of the week, except upon such 
evenings as they passed together abroad, or received 
their friends at home. Before she had been six 
months his wife, she was taught that husbands were 
irresponsible beings, with respect to their movements 
when out of sight of the partners of their bosoms. 
During the many evenings she rhad spent alone, in 
their foreign tour, she had employed herself in 


204 


PEEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


writing; forgotten loneliness, and shut her eyes to 
Kobert’s neglect of her, in a strange land, by peopling 
her solitude with the creatures of her fancy, and 
making them, in the true artistic spirit, likewise the 
children of her love. She had not this solace now. 
She had kept her word to her husband, although he 
had rejected the sacrifice with scorn. Publishers 
lured with golden offers, and editors prayed in vain 
for sketch, serial, and essay. She wrote nothing 
save notes of ceremony, and orders to tradespeople. 
Her music served to while away a couple of hours a 
day, and she read for a couple more. Then, as she 
detested fancy-work, and domestic duties, with their 
small family and corps of able servants, would have 
been a work of supererogation, time not only hung 
heavily upon her hands, but seemed, to her loathing 
imagination, to corrupt into an abomination. In all 
the prosaic hardships of her early womanhood, she 
had known none comparable to this life of elegant 
and fashionable leisure. Balls, concerts, operas were 
stale, vapid, hateful. The senseless chit-chat of her 
associates interested her as the cawing of a flock of 
magpies would have done, and she wearied to soul- 
nausea of their petty jealousies, their scandals, and 
their shams. The Arab mare — albeit her stable roof 
has been the open heavens, and her bed the desert 
sands ; though in her wild life she has known hunger, 
thirst, heat, and cold, will yet chafe, then droop, 
then die of a broken<i heart and homesickness, if her 
proud neck be bowed beneath the weight of gilded 
caparisons, and arched by the iron curb, while she is 


PEEMIE^ 8 TEMPTATION. . 


205 


tutored to fantastic cur vettings to the accompaniment 
of slow music upon the sawdust floor and in the 
stifling atmosphere of the hippodrome. It was not 
in Phemie to work, to love, or to sutler like women 
of a lower range of intellect and duller sensibilities. 
Nor was it in her when the enei‘gies of her active 
mind were denied their rightful exercise ; when 
doubt and disappointment racked love to faintness 
and the lagging days were so many degrees of an- 
guish, to make her moan in mortal ears, much less 
make known her bitterness and desolation of spirit 
through such channels as Robert had described as 
surcharged with the private woes and spites of 
woman authors. Had she written for the press at 
this era of her life, the world at large would have 
learned as little of her individual griefs as did he, and 
the veriest stranger who bowed to her in passing 
could hardly have recked less than Robert Hart of 
what went on behind the handsome mask he knew 
as his wife’s face. 

It was very handsome, on his birthnight, the twen- 
ty-fourth of February, when she was dressed to pre- 
side at the head of the table at which he proposed to 
entertain a party of gentlemen in honor of the anni- 
versary. He had bidden her procure a new dress for 
the occasion, and named the material. Her robe was 
black velvet, with a sweeping train ; a narrow edging 
of lace softening the contrast of the sable robe against 
her neck and arms, a ruby brooch and a broad band 
of chased gold, with a ruby clasp, being her only 
ornaments. When hei* toilet was completed, she dis- 


206 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


missed her maid, and stood before the tall glass in her 
dressing-room, gazing at the regal figure therein re- 
flected. Her eye gleamed, and her lip curled pres- 
ently, but in superb disdain — not vanity — at what she 
saw. 

‘‘There are times,” she said, low and hissingly, 

when I could rend all comeliness from my face with 
my own hands, crave disfigurement and deformity as 
Heaven’s best boon to one who is valued for naught 
else ; who has failed to awaken anything but the 
lowest type of love— sensuous admiration of that 
which delights the eye. And for this — this — I have 
given all — all ! Heaven help me ! Given all — and 
lost it ! ” 

She turned from the mirror with a shudder of dis- 
gust, and went down stairs. The parlors were in 
perfect order, and the tasteful luxury of their appoint- 
ments was perceptible in the dim, half-illumination of 
the hour preceding the arrival of the guests. The 
mistress’ old habits of punctuality clung to her still. 
If they were going out to dinner, she usually dressed 
before Mr. Hart returned home at evening, and the 
visitor who, ignorant of her engagements, should drop 
in on a ball-night, w^as pretty sure to find her in full 
costume, sitting at her piano, or with a book, or, as 
to-night, pacing slowly up and down the long rooms 
at a time when other ladies were beginning the im- 
portant business of robing for the festive scene. She 
walked now until the fever in glance ^nd veins began 
to subside, then s#,t down in an alcoved window at 
the extremity of the back parlor, and looked out into 


PHEMIW8 TEMPTATION. 


20Y 


the stormy moonlight flashing from the icy boughs of 
the two dwarfish elms guarding the fountain in the 
paved court. 

The window-seat was full of exotics iti pots, and 
among them the florist* 'commissioned by Mr. Hart to 
decorate the rooms, had placed a moss basket set 
thickly with heliotropes and white rose-buds. Me- 
chanically Phemie took up one of the purple spra 3 ^s. 
It all came back to her with the inhalation of the 
vanilla odor — the homely little study, the vine-curtain- 
ed window, the one plant upon the sill with its tufts 
of royal bloom — and he — her king, her dream-lover — 
his head thrown slightly back against the white cover 
of the old chair, his hand toying with his luxuriant 
beard, the very picture of a debonair knight, his deep 
gray eyes looking lovingly upon her. She had han- 
dled and smelled heliotrope a hundred times since 
that summer. What lent this tiny cluster the power 
to reproduce the tender grace of that dead season ? 
He had loved her then ! There was chivalric disre- 
gard of the world’s frown in his passionate prayer 
that she would share his home and life ; large-hearted 
liberality in his offer to maintain her brother ; con- 
stancy, the guerdon of which should have been happi- 
ness, in his renewal of his. suit after she had rejected 
it. And in the troubled course of their wedded life 
he had denied her nothing. At least — as he was too 
fond of saying — nothing that money could purchase. 
He was lavish with his means — s|r3 used to fear ex- 
travagant, but her intimation to^ ^at effect had met 
with a repulse she was not likely to forget, coupled 


208 


PEEMIW8 TEMPTATION. 


as it was with an allusion to her “ severely practical 
views of money-making and money-spending.” He 
had never rid himself of the idea that she was dis- 
posed to be penurious ; that her experience in earn- 
ing her living had made h^l^rasping and narrow- 
minded upon certain points. For himself, he would 
declare, he valued wealth only for the good it would 
do, the happiness one could procure by its use. 

These are matters of which you know nothing, 
my dear,” was the phrase that answered her scruples 
as to the propriety of this or that outlay. “ If you 
please, I shall do as I deem best in the circumstances.” 

A truly generous man would hardly have reminded 
her in so many ways that he had found her poor and 
made her rich, but Phemie hastened away now from 
a thought that had often brought the spark to her 
eye and flush to her temples. She dismissed, also, a 
suspicion yet more galling — an impression that was, 
at times, a conviction — that his liberality toward her 
was but another form of selflsh enjoyment in making 
the most of what reflected credit upon himself. She 
pondered, instead, upon the loving words and acts of 
their brief courtship and honeymoon ; upon the gushes 
of tenderness that had intermitted his injustice, his 
coldness, his anger, even during the miserabl}^ unsat- 
isfactory period of their residence in their present 
home. 

In rehearsing these, the flgure in the old chair 
regained his mailKness ; the gray eyes were once 
more wells of fe^ng and thought ; the voice had 
the musical ring that distinguished it for her from 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


209 


all other tones that ever sounded through the shabby 
little house, and she sat again at his feet — an hum- 
ble worshipper. What had been her part in bring- 
ing about their estraijgement ? She had been dis- 
trusted, misunderstood^^^es ! taunted with what she 
would else have esteemed an honor ; been schooled 
and repressed until her goaded spirit had almost 
broken out into madness — and her reply had ever 
been temperate and guarded. Should it not have 
been loving as well ? Did not other wives bow their 
pride to sue for a rekindling of waning affection ? 
bear reproach, harshness, infidelity — in the might of 
a devotion that death alone could weaken ? Was 
it only passive dut}^ that she had promised at the 
altar ? 

“ My Father ! forgive me this, my sin ! ” 

The words were a groan, and the proud forehead 
bent low, as this broke the stillness of the vacant 
rooms. Ere the echo died away, the front parlor- 
door opened and a head was thrust in. Dnkempt, 
wild-eyed, haggard as it was, she knew her husband, 
and hurried forward to greet him, calling his name 
lest he might overlook her in her obscure nook. 

“ Kobert ! I am here ! Are you looking for me ? ” 
“ Why the deuce should I be looking for you ? ” he 
returned, roughly, without awaiting her approach. 

He was half-way up the stairs^y the time she 
reached the hall. She followed_^ hirn, afraid to take 
counsel with Pride or Keason as the expediency 
of so doing. A 

“ Well ! what is it ? ’’ l^lS|^ried, as she entered 


210 


PBEMIW8 TEMPTATION. 


his dressing-room. He had torn off his cravat and 
collar, and was strapping his razor furiously. 

“ Hothing. I only came in to see how you were 
to-night, and to ask if I could help you in any way.” 

“ Which means that I anf late, by way of variety ! 
As to my health, why should it not be good as usual ? 
What has come over you ? Who has been talking to 
you that you should interest yom^self upon so unim- 
portant a subject ? ” 

Phemie held the spray of heliotrope very tightly. 
“ I have fancied that you were not looking very 
well, lately. I am afraid you work too hard, Pobert. 
This is a wearisome life we are leading. And we 
see very little of one another.” 

He made no reply for several moments, but scraped 
away busily at his upper lip, the only portion of his 
face ever visited by the razor. As he wiped it, and 
drove it back into the case, he turned to look at her. 
“ Whose fault is that ? I learned, ages ago, that the 
less you had of my company, the better pleased you 
were. I thought I was gratifying you by staying 
awa}^, and leaving you to more congenial pursuits 
and companions.” 

‘‘lam sorry I ever gave you cause to imagine that,” 
Phemie replied, going up to him and laying her hands 
on his shoulders, while she gazed into his pale and 
gloomy countenance. “We have both made some 
sad mistakes in times past, love. Let us put away 
the memory of ^ese, and begin — dating from this, 
your birthday — a^ew and happier life ! ” 

“ That is easier «iaid^an done ! ” He put her 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


211 


hands aside, and went on with his toilet, his brow 
darkening with each word. “It is too late to mend 
matters now, Phemie. And I don’t want to talk of 
mistakes that cannot be rectified. Those fellows will 
be coming in directly, and I need to keep my senses 
about me, to-night. If you really, wish to help me, 
pour me out a glass of brandy and water. You will 
find the decanter in the closet over there.” 

She dreaded to give it to him. His eyes were 
already blood-shot ; his hands unsteady, and his breath 
told the tale of previous potations. But she concocted 
the draught and put the glass into his hand. He 
tasted it, and instantly threw the liquor into the grate, 
where it proved the strength of the preparation by 
blazing up into a column of blue and white flame. 

“ Slops ! ” he interjected, filling the goblet two- 
thirds full with the raw spirits, and swallowing it. 
“ What has set you upon the stool of repentance ? ” he 
interrogated, then, laughing bitterly. “ Do you think 
I am going to die, that you have grown remorseful, 
or do you want to ask a favor of me ! ” 

“ I hope you may live for many years to prove the 
sincerity of my repentance.” Phemie smiled, but 
the fingers holding the flower were cold and tremu- 
lous. “ But I ham a favor to ask at your hands. If, 
in days gone by, I have seemed au^ht but affectionate 
and dutiful ; if, when I might hav^es^ned your cares, 
I have increased them insteadj or f^led to discern 
your need of help and Hfceer; if I appeared for- 
getful of the generous lo^fhat oy^rooked disparity 
of rank, poverty, wilfulnesi^lyiiPfc’thy pride — all the 


212 


PEEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


blemishes that have marred my character as girl and 
wife ; if for the signal benefits you rendered me and 
mine, I have seemed — indeed it was only in seeming, 
dear — to come short of the gratitude due you, I beg 
your forgiveness ; entreat you to believe me when I 
say that from the hour that saw me your wife, your 
happiness and your wishes have been my first thought. 
I may have erred in the manner of my attempt to 
advance these, but I have striven faithfully and pray- 
erfully to act as you would have me do ; to make 
myself what you would have me be.” 

‘‘ I have imposed no strictures, enacted no laws for 
your control,” rejoined her husband, as she paused. 
‘‘ I would have made you happy in my way. You pre- 
ferred to be miserable in yours. When I discovered 
this, I ceased to oppose you. To the world we have 
long been two in sentiment, in feeling, and in aim. 
The time when concession on your side — a softening 
of your self-will and pride of opinion would have uni- 
ted us, has passed. You should never have married a 
man you could afterwards bring yourself to despise. 
My error was in fancying that Love would temper 
your asperities and curb your ambition. We had 
better dismiss the subject of these unfortunate and 
irreconcilable differences. The marriage yoke has 
galled you fearfully. I meant that it should be light 
and pleasant as<it is«to other wives. It shall not be 
my fault if it ofpresft^ y^i in future. As to your 
vaunted obedieii^ and fidel^J^ your conscience must 
decide whether 1^|gse have lieen exemplified in your 
conduct. While avoided — with an ofien- 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


213 


sive punctiliousness more displeasing than rebellion 
— open resistance to my few expressed wishes, you 
have wrought against me with all the sullen strength 
of yoiir will. You have not coarsely sullied your repu- 
tation nor mine, but the world has, doubtless, had its 
say about a woman who wearies of the society of her 
husband, and seeks her chief enjoyment in association 
with literary men of dubious morality. These Plato- 
nic loves are apt to be misconstrued.” 

She stopped him there peremptorily. Robert ! take 
that back ! You do not know what you are saying ! ” 
I retract nothing ! I could say much more ! ” 
His red eyes met her with a hardihood that looked 
like brutality, when one considered her appeal and 
the provocation that led to it. 

She turned away. “ I needed only that ! I have 
niade my last effort to right myself and to save you I 
Henceforward, you shall not be . troubled by opposi- 
tion from me to your moods and your pleasures ! ” She 
laid a significant emphasis on the last word, and left 
tlie room as it was uttered. 

He was not quite dressed when a servant brought 
him a letter. From Mrs. Hart, sir ! ” 

It was a blank envelope, containing a note super- 
scribed by his hand wi|ji'JIieliame of a popular bal- 
let dancer. Beneath the aSSi’ess, Phemie had written 
three lines. “ This was s^t to^ie^year ago, in re- 
venge, the person to whoi^ffj^writt^ stated, for your 
desertion of her for a You should 

never have seen .it again ^t for y(^^rowning insult. 
I, too, have something to^^gi^g^and I forgive it.” 



CHAPTER XL 

HEMIE awoke on the morning succeeding 
the birthnight party with a throbbing head- 
ache and a dull sense of misery that were 
the reaction of the overstrained nerves 
and mind during the ordeal of that trying 
evening. She made no effort to rise after the first 
movement of her head from the pillow had been at- 
tended with blinding pain and giddiness, but lay still, 
thinking over all that had passed since the last sun- 
set. She had thrown her last card, and lost every- 
thing upon the venture. Even the pretence of amity 
was gone, now. ^ 

Eobert Hart was nsteemed an amiable, easy-tem- 
pered gentleman by th<^ who only met him abroad. 
His wife knew him to be implacable when he con- 
ceived that he -lS^Vnet wth a direct affront. He 
had never forgiven llfes^g^cy’s injudicious candor 
before his rQar4|pe.l||HpBk was certain that she 
had sinned beyo^,th^H|Hbility of pardon in con- 
fronting him with tli^j^lence of his unfaithfulness 



PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


215 


to his marriage-vow, and his subsequent falsehood in 
boasting of his constancy. She had acted rashly un- 
der the spur of the womanly indignation that surged up 
within her at the groundless slur upon her purity of 
thought and conduct ; had thrown down the gauntlet 
of open warfare ; crushed the feeble germ just born 
in her breast — the hope of a return to something like 
the peace and love of o'ther days. “She did not 
care ! ” she said to herself, in her half stupor. She 
cared for nothing now ! She had long known herself 
to be a wronged jvife ; that her husband sought in 
companionship with the basest of her sex the enter- 
tainment he failed to derive from her society. He 
had told her once that it rested him to talk with a 
silly woman, after standing on tip-toe, trying to catch 
a sight of her meaning. 

“ Mont Blanc is a grand object,” he had said, at 
another- time in jest, that had for her a bitter flavor 
of earnest. “ But it tires one’s neck to be always 
staring at the summit. You are a moral and mental 
Mont Blanc.” 

This had been her fault— that she lacked the power 
to belittle herself to the stature he had decided was 
the maximum of intellectual altitude in the woman 
who was to call him lord. She had avoided topics in 
which he took no interest ; never if bored ” him with 
flights of fancy she knew he woul^J^nsider “ mere 
moonshine,” and refrained, after one or two attempts, 
to induce him to read and study with her. 

“ Cui honof^^ he used to' say, yawningly ; “I don’t 
see that the pursuit of such questions will make you 


216 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


a more sprightly conversationalist, or me a more 
popular man. To let you into a secret worth know- 
ing, Phemie, the majority of people don’t like you to 
he wiser than themselves. I hate especially to be 
talked down to by a woman.” 

These sayings of his kindly moods were confirmed 
and intensified by the gibes and gloomy accusations 
of his graver tmms. If he had a forte, it was strong 
superficiality. His content in being*, in the apt 
phrase of a caustic writer, ‘‘ well-smattered,” was 
supreme, and a quietus to higher, and, in his estima- 
tion, profitless aspirations. With the fine sense of 
honor and charity that distinguishes true-hearted 
wifeliness, Phemie had never let her thoughts rest 
upon the glaring flaws in what she had once thought 
was almost perfection. The unworthy catalogue of 
his foibles and vices was spread out before her now, 
and she conned it as a duty essential to the. correct 
survey of her position. She had demeaned herself 
to ask pardon when she had done no wilful wrong, 
but she would do so no more. W as his love, or, to 
be more, frank with herself, his toleration, then, the 
only thing worth living for ? She had shut her eyes 
obstinately, all along, to the fact that she was the 
nobler and stronger creature of the two ; that his 
assumption of lorc^liness on the score of the accident 
of his sex was^^t another proof of a petty and ig- 
noble nature ; that the true man would have joyed 
to find her standing upon the higher level of thought 
and knowledge trodden by few ; delighted, with the 
world, to do her abundant honor ; would have stimu- 


PHEMmS TEMPTATION. 


217 


lated her to put forth her full powers, and himself 
been foremost in perceiving and applauding the 
tokens of spiritual and mental growth. 

Life was bleak, yesterday. It is nothing, to-day ! ” 
she muttered, finally, closing her eyes in a feverish 
doze, that teemed with the images of desolation and 
dread which had beset her while waking. 

Kobert generally slept late on the day after a party. 
Wine had fiowed more freely than water at his board 
overnight. When he and his boon-companions sought 
Phemie in the drawing-room, there were not three of 
the fifteen assembled to do honor to the host’s natal- 
day who were not visibly affected by the potency of 
his famed vintages. He had laughed loudest ; talked 
fastest of all. When Phemie, weary and disgusted, 
stole away through a side door, only four or five 
noticed her retreat, and he was not one of those. 
Her last glimpse of him showed her his tall form sup- 
ported by the mantel as he stood with his back to it, 
both elbows resting upon the marble shelf, one hand 
stroking his beard, and a vacant smile upon his face. 

His wife was therefore surprised at the answer re- 
turned by the maid for whom she rang at nine o’clock, 
bidding her present her compliments to Mr. Hart, 
and ask him to breakfast without her, since she was 
suffering with a headache.” 

“ Mr. Hart has gone down town, ma’am. He had 
a cup of coffee and a slice of toast at eight o’clock. 
He ordered it last night.” 

‘‘ Indeed ! Did he leave no message ? ” 

Hone, ma’am ! ” There was curiosity verging 
10 


218 


PHEMIWS TEMPTATION. 


upon impertinence in the girl’s eye. For some rea- 
son this unprecedented industry on the master’s part 
had been the theme of tlie kitchen cabal, and Phemie 
would not furnish another item. 

Yery well. I am glad he did not disturb me. 
My head is better for my long nap. But I shall take 
my chocolate in my dressing-room. And should any 
one call this forenoon, say that I am not well, and 
cannot see company.” 

A tedious forenoon it was, as she spent it — lying 
upon the sofa in her darkened boudoir, unable to 
read, to sew, to sleep, or to think for the intolerable 
pain tugging at every nerve in scalp and brain, and, 
over all, the dull weight of misery that deprived her 
of will and power to resist the physical malady. 

It was fom^ o’clock of the pale, wintry afternoon, 
the inclement frown of the heavens casting twilight 
shadows into the corners of the room, even after the 
shutters were opened, when the same curious-eyed 
maid tapped at the door with the information that, 

Mrs. Mandell and Mrs. Bonney wanted to see her 
'particularly r 

Phemie knitted her brows at the tone and wording 
of the message. I shall see my sisters whenever 
they call. I have told you that before,” I think, she 
said firmly. “ Show them up.” 

Emily was foremost — a buxom matron in plum- 
colored silk, a fur cloak, and plum-colored satin hat. 
— her best walking-attire, although the weather was 
threatening. As she told Olive, before setting out 
upon their mission, There was never any certainty 


PHEMIE'a TEMPTATION. 


219 


that one would not find a houseful of company at 
Phemie’s, and, if it rained, they could call a carriage.” 

Olive, prudent and less weak fashionward, appeared 
in a green reps, in which, with her brown cloth cloak 
and black hat, her dumpling figure reminded the ob- 
server of an unripe acorn, a bit of the black stem 
sticking to the russet cap. She followed Emily’s lead 
so closely that Phemie did not have to replace her 
heavy head upon the pillow between their kisses. 

“ I am sorry I cannot get up,” she said, as it sank 
back with a wild beat of added anguish that closed 
her eyes and deadened her hearing for an instant. 
‘‘ But my head aches dreadfully, to-day. I have lain 
here ever since I left my bed this morning.” 

I was saying to Emily, as we came along, that I 
had no doubt we should find you completely pros- 
trated,” commenced Olive, with pigeon-like dignity. 

But you should bear up. E'one of us can expect to 
be entirely exempt from trouble, you know. I said 
to Joe, to-day, at dinner, ‘ Phemie has always had 
things her own way,’*'so I remarked, ‘ until I am afraid 
she has begun to imagine that she is never to have a 
cross.’ ” 

“ Poor, dear Charlotte often observed that each of 
us must bear our cross at some time,” Emily said, 
impressively original. You have a great deal of 
fortitude naturally, Euphemia. Of course, the life 
jou have led of late years has enervated you to a cer- 
tain extent, but you really must not give way at the 
first breath of trouble. Kecollect the Christian 
patience with which our beloved mother met trials 


220 PHEMIW8 TEMPTATION. 

far more severe than what you are now passing 
through.” 

Phemie pressed her bounding temples between her 
palms, and stared, in bewilderment, first at one, then 
the other, as childless, houseless, penniless Job might 
have glared at Eliphaz when he “ essayed to commune 
with him ” upon the unreasonableness of his sorrow. 

“ A cross ! I do not understand ! I have a head- 
ache, a bad headache ! But I do not regard that as 
an affliction.” 

“ You never used to have headaches,” Emily took 
up the w^ord, without getting the meaning of the 
faintly-gasped sentences. ‘‘While your habits of 
life were frugal, regular, active, your health was ex- 
cellent. Bely upon it, Phemie, prosperity is not the 
best school for many people. Excuse me for doubt- 
ing whether it has not been injurious to you in many 
ways. Perhaps the change in your condition — ” 

She hesitated, seeing the white cheeks redden into 
a burning blush. 

Olive was prompt to cover thS pause. “ I said to 
Emily, not ten minutes ago, that adversity was a 
wholesome discipline ; I am sure I shall always be 
grateful to a kind Providence that I learned so much 
in my youth that is useful to me now. I was telling 
Jane, last night, when she said how Mr. Bonney en- 
joyed the hot mufflns I surprised him with for tea, 
that I was glad I could cater for my husband, be a 
help instead of a hindrance to hiniv You never took 
to housekeeping, Phemie, and, as mother and I con- 
cluded when she was on here last spring,* you have 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


221 


paid no more attention to yonf domestic affairs since 
you were married than if you were a boarder, instead 
of the, mistress of the house. I said to mother, then, 
that things were going on in the most frightfully 
wasteful style. Three women and a man to do the 
work for two people, and the mistress never looking 
into the closets or pantries, or broken meat-basket, or 
coal-cellar — and, for the matter of that, never lending 
a hand’s turn in the kitchen. ‘ ll^^othing but speedy 
ruin can come of it,’ I said, and I reminded Joe, this 
very day, that I did say it, and he sitting at the table 
with mother and me when I uttered it ! ” 

“ Not quite so bad as that, Olive ! ” Phernie said, 
not very steadily, for the beating in her temples 
sounded in her ears loud as the tick of an eight-day 
clock, and moved her to nausea. “ I have kept my 
household accounts carefully, and exercised a general 
supervision of the establishment. There was no need 
for me to do more.” 

Her calmer, usual self would not have entered upon 
a defence, but she was sick, confused, and very weak. 
It troubled her to hear the patter of their whining 
tones, and she wanted to check it without offending 
them. 

There was your greatest mistake ! ” It was Em- 
ily’s turn. “ It is the invariable mistake of literary 
women to tliink that they can leave the work of their 
households to servants, while they cultivate their 
higher talents. A woman should not marry unless 
she can make up her mind to sacrifice all thought of 
pursuing the bent of her own mind and taste — to 


222 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


conform herself to her husband’s 'notions in every- 
thing ; to study his interests in every imaginable 
way ; to consider nothing menial that can add to his 
comfort; to live in and for him alone. He has a 
right to demand this. If more of our sex — especially 
the stronger-minded portion of it — rightly understood 
this cardinal principle of the married state, we should 
hear less of the unhappy lives of learned ladies.” 

Olive’s fixed, bead-like eyes said, ‘‘Hear! hear!” 
to this faithful repetition of Seth’s dogmas. 

Phemie chafed her clammy hands against each 
other. The cold sweat stood upon her brow, while 
her lips were burning with fever. “ I am not a liter- 
ary woman, Emily. I have written nothing for two 
years. I shall never publish another line.” 

“ Don’t say that ! ” objected Emily, gravely. “ Seth 
thinks it is possible you may be able to turn your 
talent to account at last. Unless — as I fear — you 
have acquired such a distaste for labor of all kinds as 
to shrink from the idea of working, even to aid your 
husband. It will be a sad blow to your pride, no 
doubt, but you must remember that the humiliation 
to him is the point to be considered most. It is an 
awful stroke to a proud man to have his wife obliged 
to work to help support his family. I always pity 
such a one from the bottom of my heart. And Seth 
says this failure is a complete crash — although noth- 
ing worse than he has anticipated for a year and 
more.” 

Phemie sat upright, her face colorless, putting 
back the heavy hair from her forehead with both 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


223 


shaking hands. ‘‘Failure! What did you say? 
Am I dreaming ! Who has failed ? *’ 

“She doesn’t know it!” ejaculated Olive, in real 
pity, while the self-righteous Emily quailed before 
the questioning eyes of the deceived wife. 

“ Can it be that Mr. Hart has not told you ? ” be- 
gan the latter, in painful embarrassment, then stop- 
ped. 

“ He has told me nothing. He has had no oppor- 
tunity. We had company last night, and I have not 
- seen him to-day ! If you ever loved me, Emily, 
speak out !” 

“ Mallory and Hart have failed. Their notes went 
to protest to-day. It is all over town, and everybody 
says it is the worst failure we have had here in years,” 
said Emily, with none of the pharisaical satisfaction 
she had evinced in her lecture upon the genius of the 
state matrimonial. 

Phemie lay back upon her cushions, with closed 
eyes and clasped hands. The furrow was gone from 
between her brows, and in its stead there was en- 
throned a solemnity, the serenity of which the shal- 
lower hearts of her sisters could not comprehend. 
She lay thus for some moments, during which they, 
aw^ed and uncertain how to act, exchanged glances 
akin to dismay. 

“ Thank you for telling me !” Phemie broke the to 
them awkward silence by saying ; “ I see now that I 
should have suspected it before. Much is clear to me 
that was before dark. I am glad it is nothing worse. 
We know enough of poverty to be assured that it is 


224 


■PHEMIWS TEMPTATION. 


the least of really formidable evils. I think I can 
get up, now. The shock has started my headaclie 
into a retreat. When Kohert comes he must not see 
me drooping. Poor fellow ! What is my suffering 
compared with his?” 

She had thrust her feet into slippers, and, still stand- 
ing, made an effort to shake down her hair before the 
mirror. She staggered, and turned paler in tlie attempt. 

“ You had better lie down again,” suggested Emily, 
uneasily. 

“ Oh, no ! I shall be better directly. I have 
barely time to get myself ready and go down to meet 
him. He is often home by five.” 

“ In that case, we must go ! ” said Olive, bridling 
at what she considered a hint. 

Emily arose with her. ‘‘You must not take it 
hard that we came here this afternoon,” she said, feel- 
ing very uncomfortable. “ But Seth and Joe brought 
the news home at dinner-time, and Olive ran around 
to see me about it, and we agreed that, as your sisters, 
it was but right that we should give you our sympa- 
thy and advice — and I am sure, Phemie, if there is 
anything we can do to. help you, we shall be happy 
to offer our services. We are really very sorry for 
you ! ” 

“You are good to say that!” Phemie gave her a 
cold hand, then went on binding up her luxuriant 
hair in nervous haste. “ Instead of being wounded 
by your coming, I cannot be sufficiently grateful to 
you for preparing me to meet my husband as I 
should ; for sparing him the pain of telling me the 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 225 

sad news. It is sad to him. He has never been 
poor.” 

She will find poverty a different thing now that 
she has had a taste of wealth,” said Olive, when she 
and Emily were in the street. “ What a careless, in- 
different wife she must have been, never to have 
suspected how things stood ! Why, if Joe has the 
least cloud upon his face when he comes in, I give 
him no rest until I find out jvhat it is. But Phemie 
was always queer — always wrapped up in her own wild 
fancies and projects. After all, Em ” — straightening 
her roley-poley figure, and walking /more like a 
pigeon than before — “ it is a man’s wife who makes 
or mars him. And” — meditatively — was par- 
ticularly struck with your remark, that prosperity is 
hurtful to some people. I do hope that poor Phemie 
will lay it to heart.” 

Instead of occupying herself with this, or cognate 
scraps of morality, the spoiled child of prosperity sat 
at her front parlor window, watching for her hus- 
band, forgetful of pain, of faintness, of his coldness 
and infidelity ; remembering only how she had loved 
him, and longing from the overflowing, aching depths 
of that love, to comfort him in the great trouble that 
had befallen him. At the stern blast of Adversity, 
the weaknesses, vanities, and failings that had gath- 
ered about his better self, had, for her, fallen away, 
and, dignified by sorrow, he stood forth, once more, 
a man to whom she owed both duty and affection, 
and who should have them from her without stint. 
She had not dreamed so happily since the night she 
10 * 


226 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


had laid her book upon his knee, saying, “ A gift for 
you, my husband ! ” as she now did within the hour 
in which she had been told that he was a bankrupt. 

They were young and strong. The world was be- 
fore them, and they would work together. He would 
let her help him, now, if not by writing tales and 
essays, in some more modest way. She could keep 
books, or copy deeds, or be his saleswoman behind 
the counter of some unpretending little shop, with a 
back parlor, where they could sit in the ev-ening and 
read, or talk, or write, in company, and three snug 
chambers overhead. She had seen such dozens of 
times, and known people who were very happy in 
them. After the smart of mortification was over, 
she could win Robert around to her way of viewing 
this. 

If he would but come ! She pictured him to her- 
self lagging homeward, his hat slouched over his 
brows, frenzied by defeat, and shrinking from com- 
munication with his late associates — fearing most of 
all the task of unfolding his story to her. Her heart 
bled until she sobbed outright at thought of the 
suppressed agony — suppressed lest she should suffer 
wliile it was yet in his power to shield her from 
knowing the worst — that had impelled him to affect 
harshness the night before. She struck her breast 
hard with her clenched hand in recalling her mad re- 
crimination — her unwomanly revenge. 

If he would but come ! She longed to kneel to 
him, and pray for forgiveness ; to make of her affec- 
tion a bulwark that should break the force of the 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. ^ 227 

assaults lie must sustain from tlie rebuffs of fickle 
friends ; the ingratitude of those whose benefactor he 
had been ; the mean triumph of those who had envied 
him in his palmy days. She could show him how 
utterly beneath his regard were these reptiles ; how 
impotent to mar the quiet beauty of their new life 
and their first real home. She would tell him more 
— tell him all her hopes for the future and for that 
home — and her cheek glowed with bridedike roses at 
thought of the well of consolation of which she held 
the key. 

If he w^ould but come ! The inclement heavens 
fiad glowered at sunset with a dull red that was 
fierceness, not promise, and quickly burned itself out 
into dingy gray. The pavements were still icy in 
patches after the sleet of yesterday, and there would 
be more by to-morrow. The moon was not up, yet, 
or the low-hanging clouds would not grow dark so 
fast, yet few street-lamps were lighted. She rejoiced 
when the one nearest their door flamed up — a clear, 
steady jet that showed her distinctly the figure of 
every passer-by. Through the boding hush of the 
near storm, the tramp of coming and going feet was 
like the fall of heavy rain-drops, but they tantalized, 
instead of lulling the listener. Men and women, 
arm-in-arm, beggar-children with baskets, merry boys 
that whistled as they strolled, and rattled sticks along 
area-rails, the solitary figure of a woman, stealing 
close to the same rails, her slip-shod shoes flapping 
upon the side-walk, and her thin shawl wrapped 
tightly about her, vain protection against the wind 


228 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


that fluttered her scanty garments; then’ more 
men — short, tall, and middle-sized — and still no 
sign of the one for whom those eager eyes were 
strained. 

At length an organ-grinder, in a last endeavor to 
retrieve an unlucky day, or tired of carrying his 
square music-machine, and desirous, like a sharp 
practitioner, to make his enforced rest a means of 
proflt, or beguiled by the sight of the figure outlined 
against the damask curtains into the belief that he 
had found a tractable listener, halted just beneath 
her and began to play. The instrument was shrill 
and wheezy ; the high notes were wiry, and the low 
ones a husky grunt, and the time was execrable, but 
the air rang in her ears like the lament of her yearn- 
ing spirit ; haunted her for years afterwards. ^^Rob- 
e7't! Robert! toi que faime ! toi que faime! She 
had sung it to him the evening of their betrothal — 
because he asked it. She raised the window, flung 
the man some money, and ordered him in pantomime 
to go. What chance sent him hither with that wail- 
ing strain? Was not waiting already anguish? 
Would he never come? An alert figure passed 
under the wdndow, ran up the steps and rang the bell. 
The servant, also on the alert, opened the door, re- 
ceived a letter from the messenger, and brought it to 
his mistress. 

She tore it open beneath the chandelier in the back 
parlor. That in the front room had remained un- 
lighted, that she might see who came and went in 
the outer darkness. 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


229 


When you read this,” said the letter, I shall 
be upon the ocean. I knew this when I promised 
you, last night, not to clog your progress in time to 
come. It was a settled purpose before you sent me 
the billet ^mu had treasured for a year to hurl at me 
when I should be most defenceless — most at your 
mercy. It may lessen your compunction to learn 
this, should you ever feel remorseful. Ere this, you 
may have heard that I am a ruined man. Like many 
a wiser and richer man, I have^ trusted too much to 
another, and he has abused my confidence. Mallory 
is a villain, and I have told him so, but this will not 
restore a tarnished name, or bring back lost wealth. 
I do not take you with me in my flight from a land 
that is now odious to me, for two reasons. The first 
is, I have interpreted correctly the signs that indicate 
your weariness of the bond that unites our names — 
not our hearts. The second is that I have no longer 
money and position to offer you, and, without these, 
I am not wwth your acceptance. Bear me witness, 
that you have had — while it was mine to give — the 
price for which you sold your liberty and your per- 
son. Heart and mind were never mine. 

“ You are free once more. I trust you will soon be 
independent pecuniarily, also. Your publisher, Mr. 
Mallory, ought to have a considerable sum in his 
hands, accruing from the sale of your works. I have 
never questioned him as to sales and profits, sup- 
posing that you would resent ray interference in your 
affairs. He should have secured this to you, unless 
5"ou have drawn the amount, which is very possible. 



230 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


If I could provide for jour maintenauce, I would do 
it. As it is, I have not a dollar I can call mj own. 
I do not caution you against useless regrets at my 
departure. You are too sensible to waste time in 
lamentations over what cannot be helped ; nor do I 
flatter m^^self that you would hinder my going if you 
could. 

Again, you are free ! I am sorry I ever enslaved 
you — put even a temporary check upon your individu- 
ality. The world will say that I have fled the country 
because I dared not face my furious creditors. You 
will know that the fear of their wratli is but a minor 
thong in the whip that has driven me into exile. 


Robert Hart.” 


‘‘My child!” Phemie looked up from the page 
that had changed her to stone. She saw eyes that 
would have been keen but for the tears that brimmed 
them, a plain, elderly visage, motherly in earnest love 
and compassion, arms that were outstretched to sup- 
port her as she tottered forward. 

“ My only friend ! ” she said, and, for the first and 
only time in her life, fainted. 








CHAPTER XII. 

SENT for you, Mr. Bonney,” said Miss Har- 
cy, meeting Joe on the threshold of her office 
> ^ grave, but hearty shake of the hand, 

“ because I knew I should attract the atten- 
tion of your clerks and partner if I went to 
your store, and perhaps interfere with the routine of 
your business. If I had gone to your house, you would 
have been subjected to perplexing inquiries, and my 
errand to you is confidential. I hope I have not put 
3"ou to serious inconvenience by my request.” 

“Not at all,” answered Joe, accepting the chair 
she pointed out to him, as he would have obeyed a 
gentlemanly dentist’s wave into “ that seat, if you 
please, my dear sir. Now, we will soon have that very 
troublesome tooth out.” Joe was horribly afraid of 
Miss Darcy, and widely at sea as to the nature of her 
business with him. He hoped forlornly it was nothing 
worse than to solicit a subscription for an “ Indigent, 
Respectable Aged "Woman’s Home,” to be located at 
Fezzan, or a Magdalen Asylum in Bcloochistan. He 
had tucked a fifty dollar bill into his pocket-book 


232 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


prior to leaving the store, and was prepared to sur- 
render it at, or without discretion. It was worth 
seeing the alteration in his manner and countenance 
at her next words. 

“ I want to talk with you about Phemie.” 

Joe ceased his restless manipulation of his hat-brim, 
and his eyes, retiring perceptibly into their sockets, 
steadied themselves upon Miss Darcy’s. Phemie’s 
name was a touchstone that brought him out always 
in his best colors. 

“ Before we enter regularly upon the subject I wish 
to consult you about,” continued Miss Darcy, ‘‘let me 
exculpate her from the charge of ungraciousness in 
that she declined the invitations of her sisters to spend 
some days with each of them.” 

The good woman could not restrain a slight em- 
phasis upon the term named for the visit, and Joe, 
already tender on this head, noted it. 

“ She is welcome to a home in my house as long 
as she lives ! ” he said, stoutly. “It is only fair. 
Didn’t she support the whole family for five years ? 
We can’t do too much for her.” 

“ Well said ! ” Miss Darcy nodded approval. “ She 
knows how kindly are your feelings toward her. But 
the independence that led her to work in her early 
life forbids her now to live upon the charity of others 
— even her relatives. She asked me, the evening 
after the failure, before her sisters had heard that she 
was deserted — to hire her a room in this house. I did 
it the next day. She believed then, and I hoped that 
there would be some meagre provision for her out of 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


233 


the wreck. I have insisted upon an examination of 
Hart’s affairs, and paid a lawyer to institute this. I 
could have saved the fee and learned what I wanted 
to know, in half the time, by inspecting the accounts 
of the firm myself — but of course, a great, noble lord 
of creation, like Mallory, would not allow a woman 
to lay her profaning fingers upon his ledgers and 
bank-books. The upshot of the matter is ” — seeing 
Joe finger his hat-brim and look uneasy at this ful- 
mination of a strong-minded woman’s indignation — 
“ that, what with Hart’s extravagance and Mallory’s 
peculations and settlements upon his wife — to say 
nothing of the neat sum which, the senior partner 
says, was carried off by the junior when he absconded 
— between the two worthies, Pheniie is as poor in 
pocket as when she married, and poorer in everything 
else excepting Christian patience and heroism. She has 
not a baubee to show for the books published by the 
precious concern. She never put forward any claim 
for her share of the profits of the second of these, 
although a fair percentage was promised by the con- 
tract to the author under her assumed name. I looked 
to that when I arranged for the publication of the 
volume. Her husband disapproved of her presump- 
tion in writing a book that showed to the world how 
much more sense she had than was possessed by him, 
and she was withheld by fear of his displeasure, from 
inquiring into the pecuniary result of the venture. 
This is her version of the affair — only I have put it 
more strongly than she does. She finds excuses for 
Hart at every turn. 


234 : 


PEEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


“ Between you and me, Mr. Bonney, the partners 
pocketed a pretty little fortune from the sale of the 
book, and shared it between them. Mallory says it 
went into the general business, and the business went 
to destruction. Lknow who ought to be sent after it 
— ^but there is no use in flying into a passion, even 
over such barefaced villany as this.” 

“ But,” interrupted Joe, eagerly, the Arm has 
assets. We can sue for the amount due her, and 
possibly recover something. I’ll pay the costs of the 
suit twice over rather than they should not be prose- 
cuted, and this shameful business made public. And 
there was a contract, you say ? ” 

‘‘ Yes — one party to which is represented by a fic- 
titious name. To be sure, it has been expressly stated 
that a certain percentage upon each copy sold is to 
be paid to the author, whose signature is ‘Epsilon,’ 
and I could testify that Euphemia Hart is that per- 
son. But” — eyes bright and nostrils dilating’*—- 
“ whom does she prosecute ? Her husband, as one 
of the firm who defrauded her. And, if he were not 
concerned in any manner in the iniquitous transac- 
tion, she could not sue the authors of the injury. 
The prosecution must originate with him. In this 
Christian land of light and liberty, a married woman 
owns nothing unless it is secured to her by a mar- 
riage contract, or bequeathed to her by will — and 
then it must be put into the hands of trustees to use 
for her — poor idiot ! or settled upon her by her legal 
custodian. Except in these cases, all that she has and 
all she earns belongs absolutely and entirely to her 


PUEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


235 


husband . She may go out washing by the day, and 
bring home a dollar at night to buy bread for her 
children, and he — the glorious creature, who has lain 
upon the floor all day befuddling his god-like com- 
prehension with drink — may knock her down, and 
take the dollar away, further to befuddle his manly 
senses — and all the law in the country can’t prevent 
the robbery. Can’t prevent it! Wouldn’t prevent 
it, I should say, for men make the laws. Mr. Hart 
should bring a suit against those who have ploughed 
with his heifer, and kept back her hire from his 
lordly palm ; but when the unrighteous li^isbandmen 
are the respectable firm of Mallory & Hart, the com- 
plication is more than discouraging. It is simply 
and ludicrously hopeless I ” * 

‘‘Good gracious!” ejaculated Joe, rubbing his 
palms together with an air the reverse of lordly. 

As this overwhelming woman stated the case, it 
sounded like an enormity that nearly stunned him. 
While he listened, he was so ashamed of being a 
man, that he seriously meditated an apology for a 
circumstance he thought he might truthfully imply 
was entirely beyond his control. 

“Therefore” — Miss Darcy told off the steps of 
her narrative by successive taps of her long forefinger 
upon- the oaken desk — “ Phemie has no property be- 
yond her personal efiects, namely, her wardrobe and 
her jewelry. Even the plate — including the few 
articles of silver given by her uncles and brothers-in- 
law at her marriage, and which are marked ‘ Hart,’ 
like the rest, must go to pay the debts of Mallory & 


236 


PUEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


Hart. Hart was very fond of presenting her wdtli 
solid silver epergnes^ coffee-urns, and the like, from 
which he could regale his friends at tlieir carousals 
— but he was careful to exact her thanks for these, 
and equally careful that they should not be marked 
with her name. ‘ Hart ’ has a more aristocratic, oli- 
garchical sound — and the married state is an absolute 
monarchy. Excuse me again. My tongue and tem- 
per are yoked together to-day, and occasionally jerk 
the reins away from my judgment. 

“ Phemie, then, is without property and without 
expectations, excepting the humble expectation of 
those who wait upon the Lord, and do not put their 
trust in man. Her wardrobe is valuable — that is, it 
cost an absur(J sum. Hart was fastidious about his 
wife’s dress, as he was about his plate and furniture. 
But what dealer in second-hand clothing will give a 
tenth of its real value ? I happen to know a reason- 
ably honest Jewess who is in that business. I be- 
came acquainted with her several years ago, when 
she was much poorer than she is now, and had typhoid 
fever in her family. She has a heart, and she is over- 
grateful for the trifling services I rendered her at that 
time. She will dispose of Phemie’s useless dresses 
and the like. How comes the question of the jew- 
elry. Phave an excellent memory, Mr. Bonney, and 
it is surprising how useful I fiijd bits of information 
I have picked up and treasured from time to time, 
without an idea how they could ever be of service to 
me or my friends. I recollect you said once in my 
hearing, that Waddell, the jeweller, was your undo 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


237 


by marriage. Will he, do you think, appraise such 
articles as Euphemia wishes to dispose of, and tell us 
how and where we ought to offer them for sale 1 ” 

“I will ask him. I am sure he will do it. is 
one of the kindest men in the world,” returned Joe. 
“And— and — I don’t mean to be officious — but my 
wife has often told me that her sister had a quantity 
of elegant laces — more than she could ever wear. I 
was thinking, if she has any that can be ironed out, 
that are not soiled, or that can be fixed up by these 
French women that do such things, you know. I’ll 
put them into my store and sell them for her at such 
a price as she couldn’t get in a second-hand establish- 
ment.” 

“ A good idea ! ” Miss Darcy nodded again, with 
the compunctious admission to herself that even a 
weak man might say a sensible thing once in a life- 
time. “ I’ll mention it to Phemie. The suggestion 
is a valuable one, for every dollar is wortli fully a 
hundred cents to her just now. This brings me” — 
checking off another section of the desk-lid — “ to the 
main proposal I have to ofier for your consideration. 
The book trade and magazine writing are stagnant at 
present. Everything has risen in market value ex- 
cept brains. Booksellers and the proprietors of peri- 
odicals — even those that pay expenses — are afraid of 
taking on more sail. Moreover Phemie must get to 
work immediately, or her means will be exhausted. 
Can she obtain a set of books to write up — account- 
books, I mean, or copying of any kind — do you think ? 
There are reasons” — the practical woman colored, in 


238 


PIIEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


approaching a delicate subject — ^Svhy she should not 
take a regular situation in a store for some months to 
come. I mention this in strict confidence, Mr. Bon- 
ney. You are a family man, and I can speak freely 
to 'you of what nobody besides Phemie and myself 
knows.” 

Joe was a bashful man, but he did not blush. His 
sanguine complexion faded into a bluish- white ; his 
hat fell from his hold, and he did not stoop to pick it 
up as it rolled away on the floor. “ You don’t tell 
me so ! ” he said, in a whisper of horror and pity. 
“ Poor Phemie ! poor girl ! ” 

Then his head went down upon his hands, and 
• Miss Darcy was more conscience-smitten than ever at 
thought of her former valuation of the warm-hearted, 
right-minded brother-in-law. She looked over a pile 
of letters on her desk, while he recovered himself; 
but it is to be questioned whether her eyes were much 
clearer than those that had a red binding about their 
lids, wdien Joe raised his face and cleared his throat. 

“ I suppose you despise me ! ” he said, deprecat- 
ingly, “ but you took me all aback by what you said. 
When I think of my own baby, and how much she 
has always loved him, and how she would love one 
of her own, and how I am wrapped up in mine, I 
can’t help grieving over her ; and if that rascally 
runaway were here, I would break his head for him, 
so I would ! ” thumping his knee, with a gleam of 
the light eyes that was quite ferocious, and which 
greatly increased Miss Darcy’s new-born respect for 
him. 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


239 


“I believe you would. Both feelings do you 
honor 1 ” she said, heartily. “ I only wish he were 
here long enough for you to carry your excellent in- 
tentions into execution. Since he is not, we must 
do the next best thing, and help his deserted wife. 
When the warm w^eather comes, I shall take her to 
my brother’s farm, and keep her there until — after 
September. Meanwhile, the kindest office we can 
render is to procure work for her.” 

“ I can give her a job of writing right offi — a set of 
accounts of my own,” said Joe. “ I have an interest 
in another business outside of my store — a secretary- 
ship — and I have been in the habit of writing out my 
reports in full in the evening. I shall be glad to get 
rid of the bother, and more glad to give her a start. 
It isn’t much, but it may do for a beginning. I will 
be on the lookout for more, too, you know. And her 
room rent. Miss Darcy ? By the way, what sort of a 
room has she got 

“ A very comfortable one.” 

But not what she has been used to, eh ? ” 

“ She could not obtain that in a boarding-house of 
this class,” said Miss Darcy, gravely. 

She did not intimate that the nominal rent to Phe- 
mie was lower than other apartments of^he same 
size and situation in the establishment brought, and 
that this difference in favor of the new lodger was the 
consequence of a private arrangement between her- 
self — Miss Darcy — and the landlady. 

“ True ! It is comfortable, you say ? ” 

It is, and of fair dimensions.” 


240 


PHEMmS TEMPTATION. 


I’ll be responsible for the rent — will send it to 
her, anonymou^sly,” said Joe, forgetfal, in his affec- 
tionate zeal, of the ill fate of a former anonymous 
gift. Don’t let her ever suspect who it is from, 
please. She is proud — and I don’t know anybody 
who has more to be proud of. Where is she to-day ? ” 
Gone to finish her packing at the house. The 
auction comes off to-morrow. I ofiered to help her, 
but she preferred to be alone. It must be a sad task, 
and there is no one beside herself on the place. The 
servants were dismissed a fortnight ago — the day 
after the failure, in fact. Phemie had money enough 
by her to pay their wages and ten dollars over. Be- 
fore I knew of it, she had sold a ruby pin and brace- 
let to get more for her first month’s board here.” 

Joe went several blocks aside from his direct route 
back to the store, that he might pass the house lately 
inhabited by the Harts. He had some vague notion 
of protecting the solitary inmate by so doing ; a 
prompting to hover near her unseen, and avert pos- 
sible hurt or alarm, which the fairest of guardian 
angels need not have been ashamed to nurse in his 
bosom. The shutters were closed on the first fioor, 
those of the upper front chamber open. He pictured 
her in there, bending tearfully over drawers, and 
trunks, and jewel-cases, and longed, with a strange, 
pathetic heartache for the power and right to say to 
her, “ Select whatever you want, Phemie, as a keep- 
sake from your devoted brother ! ” 

“ It’s worship, that’s what it is ! ” he had said to 
her, years before, on the blustering night in which he 


PEEMmS TEMPTATION. 


241 


confessed his love. His wife was very dear to him 

much better suited to his mental and physical needs 
than was Phemie, but his feeling for the latter par- 
took of the exaltation and fervor of worship still. 
Great hearts and great minds are not always encased 
in the same mortal tenement. It may be well for the 
feeble-minded that the blessed doctrine of compensa- 
tions prevails in this, as in most Divine ordinances. 

Had great-hearted Joe looked with his bodily eyes 
into that upper room, he would have seen his beloved 
wife — the keeper of his affections, if not of his thoughts 
— seated in a luxuriously low chair, her dumpy feet 
crossed upon a hassock (she was easily fatigued, just 
now), her bonnet-strings loosened, and her eyes round 
with enjoyment of the survey of her sister’s occupa- 
tion. Wardrobes, drawers, and closets were open ; 
the bed, chairs, bureau, and carpet strewed with their 
late contents. Miss Darcy had said truly that Phe- 
mie’s was a costly collection of wearing apparel. One 
large box was intended for the dealer in cast-off cloth- 
ing, and this Olive watched most intently. By a sys- 
tem of ratiocination which the industrious Oily, the 
grateful dependent upon her sister’s earnings, would 
have scorned to pursue, but which the wife of the 
well-to-do tradesman considered perfectly justifiable, 
and, indeed, commendable as an evidence of shrewd- 
ness, she had arrived at the conclusion that the arti- 
cles committed to this must be intended as a gift to 
herself and Emily. They would be exceedingly in- 
appropriate for Phemie’s wear after all that had hap- 
pened. Good taste— and Phemie’s taste was irre- 
11 


24:2 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


proachable— demanded that her dress should conform 
to her altered circumstances. As the deserted wife of 
a dishonored bankrupt she could no longer sport vel- 
vets, satins, lace, and diamonds wuthout outraging the 
moral decency of the community, l^or was it likely 
that she would lay these away in the hope of brighter 
days. They would be injured by packing, and grow 
old-fashioned and useless. * What was more natural 
than to assume that they were to be offered for her 
sisters’ acceptance ? the sisters who had been first to 
call upon her in her afiliction, with proffers of service 
and counsel? 

By way of making the tender and the reception 
of the presents less awkward, Olive praised every- 
thing lavishly. ‘‘ It beats all, the care you have 
taken of your dresses ! ” she exclaimed, as Phemie 
spread a ruby silk upon the bed, preparatory to fold- 
ing the skirt. “ That is the very one you wore the 
evening Joe and I called upon you at the Lacroix, 
three — no, two years since. How long ago it seems ! 
How little any of us thought then what was before 
us! I was telling Jane, the other night, about that 
dress, trying to describe the color and the way it was 
made. It was very becoming to you. Any shade of 
red suits you and me. Emily, now, looks well in blue, 
and purple, and mauve, she is so fair. Joe always 
insists that you and I are alike. I’m so glad I hap- 
pened to stop this morning as I was going by 1 It 
flashed across me, when I noticed the open shutters, 
that I might find you here, so I rang the bell. It 
would have been doleful for you to overhaul all those 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


243 


drawers and closets alone. You would have got to 
thinking — and thinking is the worst thing you could 
do, just now. Emily was saying, yesterday, that the 
wisest course for you to pursue would be to begin to 
live for other people — to forget your own sorrows in 
making them happy. I am sure — if it will comfort 
you to hear me say so — we have felt more like sisters 
toward you — more, as we did in the dear old times — 
since you have been in trouble, than we have done 
for two years before. It was Mr. Hart’s influence, 
no doubt, but you seemed to hold yourself aloof from 
us ; to feel so much grander than we poor, modest 
people, that we were quite overawed. Mr. Hart was 
a very supercilious man.” 

“ I cannot bear to hear my husband blamed, Olive,” 
said Phemie, gently. “ I have never felt otherwise 
than affectionately toward you and Emily, whatever 
my manner has been.” 

“Oh, we know that ! and I don’t want to wound 
you by talking about Mr. Hart. I told Joe, three 
days ago, that he was a subject we should all study to 
avoid. Albert is dreadfully cast down about this 
affair. It’s lucky he was made assistant tutor in the 
Institute just in time to begin to support himself. 
That was one good deed of Mr. Hart’s, helping to 
educate him.” 

“ He did many kind deeds,” answered the wife, in 
patient mournfulness. 

“ Yes, he didn’t mind spending his money while he 
had it,” assented Olive, amiably. “ He kept you like 
a queen, Phemie. There is no denying that. That’s 


244 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


that hemenly amber silk, with the square corsage. I 
always did say it was the loveliest thing ever made. 
And that black silk mantle ! It is a pity to lay that 
away. Those heavy corded silks cut so badly in the 
folds. I remember meeting you in the street with 
that on, the first time you ever wore it. When I 
went home, I said to Jane that I had seen you with 
the handsomest mantle on I ever beheld. And, said 
she, ‘ Your turn will come one day, Mrs. Bonhey ! ’ 
‘ 'No ! ’ said I. ‘ I know what my husband can afibrd, 
Jane. I should like to dress elegantly, but he needs 
most of his money for carrying on his business, and 
my wants must be moderate until his ship comes in.’ ” 

“I believed that my husband, could afford to dress 
me as he liked,” said Phemie, yet more patiently ; 
“ and so thought he. His failure was not his fault.” 

Olive pursed up her mouth tightly, and looked un- 
utterable wise things. But she was too politic to pro- 
voke Phemie to retraction of her generous intuitions ; 
for Phemie ^as generous! Witness not only her 
years of service in behalf of her family, but the hand- 
some presents she had made little J oe since her return. 
She had left little for the parents to do for him in the 
way of clothing, toys, and trinkets. 

My ! ” exclaimed the spectator, as Phemie took 
from a box the black velvet robe she had worn to the 
dinner party. That is magnificent 1 When did 
you get it ? ” 

‘‘ I bought it a few weeks since. It has been worn 
only once.” 

‘‘Are you going to crowd it in with the rest? 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


245 


Won’t yon injure tlie pile?” asked Olive, solicitous 
for the welfare of a garment so easily convertible into 
the cloak she had “ pined for ” for two winters. And 
there was lace enough on it to trim the cloak hand- 
somely! But what if it was intended for Emily? 
Emily, who had a span new fur cloak, and whose 
husband could buy Joe out three times over! She 
made a bold push to end her suspense. 

“ Phemie, dear ! you won’t have occasion to wear 
that for years to come.” 

“ I shall never put it on again.” 

That was what I was saying to myself ; and it 
will be ruined if you lay it by. I tell you what I 
will do ! I want a velvet cloak. I never wanted 
anything so badly before. It is the height of my 
ambition in dress. I could have 'one made out of 
that with a little contriving. I’ll buy it of you, 
rather than have it spoiled by being crushed into a 
trunk with other things. I cannot afford it very well, 
it is true, but I must try and manage it.” 

If you want it, you shall have it certainly, Olive. 
I do not know what I ought to charge for it, but you 
can inquire of some one versed in such things. I am 
obliged to dispose of all these dresses, etc. ; and if 
there is any article to which you have taken a fancy, 
you may as well have it as somebody else.” 

She was very busy disentangling something from 
the black lace surrounding the sleeve, and did not 
mark the fall of the listener’s countenance. The 
something ” was a faded spray of heliotrope, caught 
in the heavy pattern of the lace-work. She had car- 


246 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


ried it there unobserved bj herself from the time it 
had dropped from her fingers in Eobert’s dressing- 
room on the birth-night. Turning her back to Olive, 
she took a small box from the bureau, put the dried 
flower within it, and set it aside with such things as 
she had reserved for her own use. 

Olive was unprepared to make any direct offer 
for the dress. She must talk the matter over with 
Joe. She never did anything without consulting 
him. She had made up her mind when she married, 
and at sundry times, and in divers places, informed 
her mother, sister, husband, and the incomparable 
Jane, of her praiseworthy resolution, never to take 
any decided step — not even to purchase a paper of 
pins, unless she were sure of her dear husband’s ap- 
proval. She thought, nay, she was positive, that 
was one reason of his uniform success in life. She 
worked with, not against him. She had her reward 
in his unvarying kindness and indulgence. He 
would give her anything it was prudent to buy for 
her. What he couldn’t afford, he had repeatedly 
said, he had no right to give. She had heard him 
remark a thousand times, that a man ought to be 
just before he was generous.” 

He seemed to consider it both just and generous 
that she should have the dress she coveted, when she 
told him the story at night of Phemie’s cupidity and 
her disappointment. 

‘‘I wouldn’t have believed that she could have 
grown so stingy,” she said, regretfully, over her sis- 
ter’s deterioration in generous virtues. ‘‘Wliy. I 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


247 


remember the time when she would go without a 
new dress or hat a whole winter to let me have one 
instead. That is the misfortune of being rich even 
for a few years. It hardens and closes one’s heart. 
I am not rich, but I wouldn’t be so mean as to offer 
to sell my own sister a dress I had no use for. And 
there were at least a dozen white wrappers — nain- 
sook, and cambric, and linen-lawn, all trimmed with 
lace and muslin embroidery, yards upon yards of it, 
and, although she might know how beautifully they 
would makeover for an infant’s outfit, and I took pains 
to drop a hint that Joey had wmrn his long dresses so 
much that I must get new ones for the next, she 
never offered me one.” 

From all I can hear, she will be obliged to sell 
everything she can spare in order fS live,” said Joe, 
apologetically for parsimonious Phemie. “ But you 
shall have whatever you want, Olive — anything of 
hers, I mean. I intended to give you a velvet cloak 
before long. If Phemie is disposed to part with the 
dress you speak of, you can offer her a hundred dol- 
lars for it, or as much more as it is worth. You are 
a good, economical wife, and deserve a present. You 
had better take your pick of the silk dresses, too. 
And you said something about a black silk mantle, 
didn’t you ? As to the white wrappers, I wouldn’t 
speak to her about them. Ho. 2 shall have all he, or 
she, wants out of the store. Don’t buy second-hand 
goods for that purpose.” 

“You dear, blessed husband! ” Olive actually blub- 
bered, in kissing her rapturous thanks. “ But, my 


248 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


*“ precious, how can you afford to give me all these 
lovely things % You must have had a streak of good 
fortune — made a lucky investment lately ? ” 

“ I have ! ” said Joe. 




CHAPTEE XIII. 

HEMIE went to the Darcy farm-house early 
in August, to *be served and tended with 
exceeding care and love by the farmer and 
his dame, and there, one mid September 
day, her babe opened great brown eyes, 
very like her mother’s, upon the world that had dealt 
so hardly by that parent. 

“ Poor, fatherless lamb ! ” was the whisper follow- 
ing the blessing breathed over her by the deserted 
wife, with her first kiss upon the velvet cheek. 

A sad welcome — but a welcome, nevertheless, and 
from the hour in which the child was laid within her 
arms, Phemie began to recover heart and strength ; 
to think, not hopefully, but courageously, of the fu- 
ture and its labors, now that she had something for 
which to plan and work. 

“You call her ‘ Euth.’ For whom ? ” asked Al- 
bert, as he sat one day with her in the quiet sitting- 
room devoted to her use by her considerate hosts. 

He had passed s&veral weeks of his August vaca- 
tion at the farm, and had now come down from the 
11 



250 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


Institute to stay from Friday until Monday, with the 
sister he loved more truly than ever since the dark- 
ness of adversity had overtaken her. Pheniie sat 
by the ’'open window looking out toward Gray top 
Hill, the bald brow of which was surrounded' by an 
aureole of autumnal foliage, crimson and yellow, 
while the stubble-fields between it and the homestead 
were steeped in October sunshine. Her month-old 
baby lay upon her lap asleep, and the dreary longing 
of the gaze that had lingered upon the spot where 
Robert Hart had broken upon her maiden niusings 
with his love-story, melted into a tender smile, as it 
passed to the little face resting upon her arm. 

It is Miss Darcy’s name. She claims ownership 
in her,” she replied, softly. ‘‘ I could give her no 
more loving god-mother. I named her out of pure 
gratitude and afiection, and was hardly prepared for 
the emotion Miss Darcy displayed when she heard of 
it. I have seen the tears in her eyes many times as 
she fondled baby, and I believe she loves her better 
already than she does anything else in the world.” 

“ I can hardly imagine Miss Darcy in the character 
of baby-spoiler,” laughed Albert. She really handles 
the wee lassie — did you say ?” 

Most tenderly. She was not very skilful for a 
day or two, but she is apt at nursery-work as in 
everything else, and baby appreciates the improve- 
ment. She was called up to town by telegraph, day 
before yesterday, and if her namesake has not missed 
her, mamma has,” drawing the tips of her fingers 
lightly down the pink forehead. “ It isn’t every little 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


251 


girl that has two mothers ! ” She sighed when she 
had said it — a suppressed breath, that yet caught the 
blind youth’s ear. He asked no more questions for 
awhile, but presently exchanged his seat for his sister’s 
footstool, laying his head beside Ruth’s upon her 
knee. 

‘‘I should not murmur,” resumed Phemie, more 
softly still, her hand wandering from her infant’s 
brow to Albert’s dark curls. There was a wondrous 
variety of expressions in her mute caresses ; in the 
silent touch of her fingers— the clinging stroke that 
swept the forehead or cheek of the beloved one. If 
she were not a true w’oman, those who enjoy a monop- 
oly of sweetness, softness, and lovingness in the esti- 
mation of their respective circles of admiration, might 
earn a larger meed of love and applause by studying 
certain of her arts. 

“ I ought not to murmur ! ” she repeated, exerting 
herself to a livelier accent, when I have two such 
children ! ” 

Albert seized her hand and covered it with kisses. 

I cannot endure it, Phemie ! ” with a gasp that was 
almost a sob. “ You told me once that the Father 
ordered everything in mercy to those who love Him ; 
but your^experience of sorrow has come near to mak- 
ing an infidel of me. You worked with all your 
might; denied yourself everything but the bare neces- 
saries of existence, that you might maintain those 
who now, in their prosperity, overlook, or worse — 
patronize you. Emily and Olive— yes! my own 
mother, make me blush for human nature and woman- 


252 


PEEMIE'8 TEMPTATION, 


hood ! Your life has been a continuous sacrifice, and 
where is your reward ? I — for whom you have done 
more than for all the rest — am powerless to help or 
comfort you ! I am a blind clog, dragging at your 
heels, instead of a man, strong to take your part 
against the world ; to supply your needs ; give you a 
home, and to revenge your wrongs upon him who has 
brought this latest misery of poverty and desolation 
upon you ! Don’t talk to me of the wisdom and mercy 
of the Divine economy ! It is mockery when I think 
of you — your toils, your patience, and your suffering ! ” 

“ If this life wore all ! ” said Phemie’s gentlest 
tones in his ear, as he shook from head to foot with 
blended rage and compassion, and the sense of the 
impotence of either to right or console her. ‘‘ ‘ If in 
this life only we have hope, then are we of all men most 
miserable.’ I do not know what meaning theologians 
attach to that text, but it often abides with me, with 
teachings that do my heart good. I needed discipline, 
Bertie, and if it be the Father’s will that I should be 
ripened in heat that has blasted all my leaves and the 
buds in which I took most pleasure, let that will be 
done ! He gives me strength for the day of trial and 
submission to its fires. Perhaps the light will come at 
evening-time. If not — the night will bring me rest.” 

She was playing with baby Puth’s han’&, doub- 
ling the fingers about one of hers, and anon stroking 
them lightly. The baby slept on, and Albert was 
quiet again for a longer space than before. 

“ You have never heard from him since he left 
you ? ” he said, finally, with an effort. 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION, 


253 


Phemie kissed the soft fingers twice, quickly and 
passionately before she answered. Yet her voice was 
composed. I have not. He took passage for Aus- 
tralia, Mr. Mallory says.” 

The boy reared his head suddenly. “ I am in my 
twentieth year, Phemie ! I am paying my own way 
now, with my carvings, and teaching, and music. In 
five years more I shall be able to support you and 
your child. Then you must live with me. I shall 
never marry, of course, and, by that time, should 
your — should Hart not return, the law will release 
you from all obligation to him — free you from his 
very name, should you desire it. Ours shall be a 
happy home, and the past be as if it had never been.” 

Phemie leaned over Ruth to kiss the sightless face, 
glowing with anticipation of the paradise pictured by 
his loving imagination. “ There is no harm in dream- 
ing that our home may one day be the same, Bertie 
dear. If your ability to help me were commensurate 
with your will, I should begin, from this hour, a life 
of ladylike indolence. But there comes a glimpse of 
the Divine love and wisdom again, brother ! I ought 
not to have leisure for brooding and idling. I was 
put into the hive to work, not dream. I remember 
when I used to envy those who had time for castle- 
building; for the indulgence of sweet, unprofitable 
musings. I have tried this life, and I have no desire 
to repeat the experiment. As for the latter part of 
your scheme, do not be hurt, Bertie, when I tell you 
plainly that it is impracticable ; I owe duty to my 
husband while I live. Ho quibble of man’s law can 


254 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


free me from my marriage vow. I will be very 
frank with you. Whatever home I have - is Robert’s 
as well, should he wish to share it. I have a presen- 
timent that he will come back to me. It may not be 
for many years, but he will come. I do not know 
whether Sorrow will drive him, or late, repentant 
Love move him to seek the wife who loves him, and 
whom he once loved — for he did love me very dearly ; 
but return he must, and I have thought lately” — 
stopping to hold the tiny fingers to her mouth in a 
pressure that left their white imprint upon the red of 
the full lower lip — I have hoped until I believe, that 
when he has once looked into his baby’s eyes, he can- 
not leave ns again. If I could send him word of her 
coming, he might the sooner be given back to me. 
There was much good in him, Bertie. You — Miss 
Darcy — all my friends, are hard upon him. He and 
I misunderstood one another. This was the cause of 
great unhappiness. When he left me, he was scarcely 
sane. My constant prayer is that he may be.restored 
to his right mind, and I be granted the opportunity 
of atoning for my many mistakes by a life of patient 
love and duty.” 

Albert sat, his elbow on his knee, his face averted 
to hide from the speaker the pity and increduhty with 
which he had listened to her plea for her sinning hus- 
band, and prophecy of his return. She could forgive 
because she loved him, but in her brother’s breast 
hatred surged up hotly whenever he thought of the 
insult put upon her by Hart’s ignominious flight ; of 
her destitution and the wearying labor by which she 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


255 


had provided the means of subsistence during her 
term of worse than widowhood. One of Phemie’s 
ancient characteristics remained in fall force — her 
strength of will, where will was sustained by the be- 
lief that she had right on her side. She would not 
believe in her husband’s total depravity, nor would 
she listen to a word defamatory of him. Miss Darcy 
had learned this on that first terrible evening, when 
news of the failure and flight having reached her, she 
had repaired with haste to a house, the threshold of 
which she had not crossed for more than a year, and 
found the abandoned wife alone in her horror and 
despair. Phemie had not heard Robert’s name in 
many months until Albert mentioned it on this after- 
noon, and, althougli it thrilled her with a pang like 
that of the earliest moments of bereavement, .there 
was still I’elief in openly averring her hope that he 
would be reclaimed ; her faith in the omnipotence of 
love — the love she was persuaded he still had for her, 
as well as hers for him. Her child — and his — was to 
lier a tangible pledge of her reunion. After years of 
longing, the heaven-sent gift had raised the sluice- 
ways of mother-love, and she accepted the answer to 
this prayer as an earnest that her later petition would 
be answered as graciously. 

The quiet of the room was interrupted by the 
sound of wheels and voices under the window. Mr. 
Darcy had driven over to the depot’ for his sister and 
brought her back with him. She did not wait to 
shake off the dust of travel before coming inta Phe- 
mie’s parlor to see how her charges fared. Baby 


256 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


awoke as her mother arose to greet- her frien(J, and 
stretched her eyes in a stare and smile that were de- 
cided by the exultant parent to be unequivocal recog- 
nition. Miss Darcy took her in her arms, without 
speaking, and bent her face upon the plump,- vague 
visage. When Phemie received her babe again, a 
single drop of warm water glistened among the rings 
of pale brown hair. But Miss Darcy was voluble- 
with questions as to how she had passed the time of 
her absence ; when Albert had come ; how baby had 
slept, etc., and kept Phemie too busy answering 
them to allow time for speculations as to the cause of 
her sudden overflow of emotion. They kept early 
hours at the farm-house — all but baby, who had de- 
veloped a genius for lying awake and blinking at 
the candle, that augured ill — if it augured anything 
— for her regular habits in later life. 

The evening was chilly with October frostiness, 
and a bright wood-fire had been kindled upon the 
hearth in Phemie’s room. She sat before it, wake- 
ful and mute as the child upon her knees, when Miss 
Darcy knocked at the door. 

“ I hoped I should find you up,’’ she said. Nine 
o’clock bedtime agrees with me excellently as a re- 
cuperative measure during two months of the year ; 
but I can’t sleep to-night. Moreover, I am restless, 
and I have come in to you to be quieted.” 

“ To me ! ” smiled Phemie, in sad wonderment. 

“ Yes ! to somebody who has loved and sufiered 
long and patiently. Child! since I parted from 
you, day before yesterday, I have been helping to 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


257 


open^ a grave I covered in tive-and-twenty years 
ago.” 

There was vehemence in her manner, passion in her 
voice and words that amazed and alarmed her auditor. 

‘‘ If I can comfort you, it is surely my right to do 
so,” rejoined the latter, affectionately, “ for you have 
been my best earthly comforter.” 

“ Next to baby,” said Miss Darcy, with an instant 
softening of tone. 

She knelt to kiss the wide-awake bantling, then 
bestowed herself in a rocking-chair. She was wont, 
not three months since, to class these seats among the 
social nuisances of America. Having arranged her 
lap in a very nursely manner, she held out her hands. 

Let me hold her ! I can talk better of what is on 
my mind while I have her.” 

Phemie thought how the unconscious twining of 
the baby fingers about hers had strengthened her dur- 
ing the dialogue of the afternoon, and resigned her 
treasure. Miss Darcy appeared to forget that she 
had a communication to make when her wish had 
been granted. She smoothed the fiossy hair, curling 
crisply with the warmth of the room, nestled the 
round chin in the hollow of her palm, and studied the 
lights and shadows of the brown eyes. She could 
not talk baby talk. It was, to her notion, a nursery 
abomination, not to be tolerated in this rational age ; 
but there escaped her lips, more than once, inarticulate 
sounds of tenderness that would have arranged them- 
selves into the reprobated jargon had she known 
enough of the dialect to copy it. 


258 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


“ Twenty-five years ago,” slie began, abruptly, 
when a quarter of an hour had been thus consumed, I 
was sitting by this fire on a cold evening in October. 
It was later in the month than this, for we had been 
nutting that afternoon, and I was measuring those we 
had gathered. I had a large basket of chestnuts be- 
side me on the fioor, and was kneeling by them, fill- 
ing a quart cup and pouring them out into another 
basket. ‘ Five, six,’ I had counted, when somebody 
came in behind me and took the tin measure from 
my hand. It was Reuben Stilton, the son of a 
neighbor. I had been engaged to be married to him 
for two years. I was twenty-two, he twenty-four, 
and he was studying medicine in the city. I had not 
heard that he was at his father’s, and was surprised 
to see him. The journey to town was made by 
stage, not railroad, then. He laughed at my start and 
scream ; and, after he had kissed me, and I had said 
how rejoiced I was at his coming, he set the basket 
of chestnuts into a far corner of the room — just over 
there. ‘ I can finish them in three minutes,’ I said. 

‘ I promised the boys I would measure them by the 
time they had studied their lessons.” The boys were 
my nephews, and the nuts were chiefly their spoils. 
I knew they counted upon boasting of the quantity 
they had gathered when they should go to school 
on Monday morning, and this was Saturday night. 

‘ Always putting the wishes and conveniences of 
others before mine ! ’ he said, roughly. ‘ I am tired 
of this thing, Ruth. When I asked you to be my 
wife, I did not bargain to marry everybody’s slave.’ 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


259 


‘‘ I was hurt, yet I could not believe that he was in 
earnest — this was so unlike his usual manner of 
speakings ‘ Oh, Reuben ! ’ I answered, ‘ when did I 
ever put the pleasure of another before yours ? ' 

“ ‘ When ? ’ He spoke savagely, now. ‘ You 
would teach this confounded district-school, although 
your brother offered to support you like a lady here 
at home, and you are for ever working for somebody 
when I come to see you. And when I begged you 
last winter to marry me then, and end this tire- 
some probation, you took your brother’s advice in- 
stead of listening to me, and sent me off to the city, 
where I am subjected to all descriptions of evil and 
temptation, while you are fast growing into a prim 
country school teacher, losing your health and good 
looks, and wearing out my heart and patience ! ’ 

“ He snatched the poker as he finished, and struck 
the fire a blow that broke the back-log and sent the 
coals flying all over the hearth. I had time, while I 
swept them up, to arrange my thoughts, and deter- 
mined to reply kindly. He was evidently greatly ex- 
cited, and I must not lose my temper. So 1 made 
the mistake of trying to reason with him. 

‘ As to the school,’ I said, ‘ I could not reconcile 
it with my sense of right and honor to be a burden 
upon my brother, who has a large family to support, 
when I know he is obliged to work hard to finish pay- 
ing for the farm, and to provide for his household. I 
must do something in order to get a living ; and I 
had rather teach than sew, or spin, or weave. I 
make myself useful to my sister-in-law when school 


260 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


hours are over, but she does not require it. I am 
fond of her and of the children, and I am not fond 
of idleness. I refused to marry you last winter out of 
love and consideration for yourself. I could not have 
done you a more unfriendly turn than by yielding to 
your wishes in this respect. I should have doubled 
your expenses, and been a hindrance instead of a help 
to you. If the thought of my love — the knowledge 
that I think of, and pray for you every hour, does 
not guard you against temptation to evil, I am afraid 
my presence would not. I cannot judge as to the ef- 
fect that school teaching has upon my looks, but it 
has not injured my health or spirits. We have only 
to be patient and hopeful, Keuben — true to Gon, to 
ourselves, and each other, and happiness will come 
in the end. This probation may be useful to us 
both. What has happened to trouble you ? ’ 

‘ I am tired ! ’ he said, throwing himself into a 
chair and frowning at the fire. ‘ Tired of work and 
waiting ! Tired of everything ! ’ 

‘‘ ‘ Not tired of me, I hope ! ’ I returned, laughing 
in the hope of changing the tide of his thoughts. 

He answered never a word, only pushed his 
hands deep into his pockets and continued to frown 
at the fire. Like the unsuspecting fool I was, I put 
my arm about his neck — we had been children to- 
gether, you must remember, and I had promised, two 
years before, to become his wife when he should be 
ready to marry — I put my arm about his neck, kneel- 
ing on the fioor to do this, and smiled up into his 
face — not his eyes. They never left the fire. 


PHEMIWB TEMPTATION. 


261 


‘‘ ‘ Kot tired of me, are you, Eeuben ? ’ I repeated. 

“ It might be the reflection of the blaze that made 
his eyes red and sullen, but they had a hard, defiant 
look that sent a chill to my heart — a fear that I had 
offended him. I had no thought still that he could 
ever be unfaithful. Even then he did not reply, and 
I pulled his face around until I brought his sight to 
bear upon mine. Then I said, for the third time: — 

“ ‘ Do you hear me, Eeuben ? I asked if you were 
growing tired of me ? ’ 

“ I have been ashamed of my girlish fondness on 
that occasion a thousand times since that evening, 
have felt the blood rush to my face with a force and 
suddenness that made it ache as well as glow, when 
I recalled the simplicity of my trust in his love and 
fealty. I do not feel shame, but gladness and pride 
to-night in the recollection. If I had been less pure 
in thought, less single-hearted, I should have taken 
alarm sooner. It is a comfort to feel that I was once 
guileless in trust and affection. He did not resist 
when I would have compelled him to look at me. 
But his gaze was cold as dark. 

‘‘ ‘ I don’t know, Euth ! ’ was all he s^id. 

‘‘ I released him, and went back to my chair. His 
eyes returned to the hearth. ‘ Eeuben ! ’ I said, when 
the shock let me articulate, ‘is this jest or earnest? 
What have I done that you should treat me so 
unkindly ? ’ 

• “ ‘ Hothing ! ’ The words came very slowly. ‘ If 
you had offended me in any way, been one whit less 
deserving of the love of a better man than I can 


262 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


ever be, I could understand my feelings, could more 
easily forgive my 'wandering affections.’ 

‘‘The fire crackled and roared with cruel merri- 
ment as I watched the blaze and sparks leap up the 
chimney — waiting until my whirling brain should be 
still, my heart stop its stified crying. I dared not 
speak yet; if I did, he would see how I was suffering, 
and, for the first time in our intercourse, a thought 
of pride came between us. He had cast me off, and 
I believed I should die from the effects of the blow, 
but nobody should guess what had killed me. Awhile 
later I could reflect that his punishment would be 
the heavier for his knowledge of my great woe, and 
I would not increase its severity, but I did not think 
of this at first. 

“We sat thus at opposite sides of the hearth, and 
seemed to study the wood fire. I do not know 
whether he saw it or not, but I did, for the words, 

‘ Man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly upward,’ 
kept rolling over and over in my mind, and then the 
thought, ‘ If man ? what of woman ? accursed from 
the day of the fall — doubly accursed.’ I understood 
in that hour, clearly and positively, what had never 
entered my brain before — that, if we parted — and 
part we must — the loss would all be mine ; that even 
if he loved me as I must ever love him, he would 
yet be able to drive out the memory and need of me 
by other hopes, pursuits, and ambition. While I 
must, for the remainder of my blighted life, take up 
Jacob’s lament, and cry in emptiness of heart and * 
exceeding bitterness of spirit, ‘ If I be bereaved, I am 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


263 


bereaved ! ’ Life could nevermore be the same to 
me ; would bear the same likeness to my late happy, 
busy existence, as the dead ashes on the hearth to- 
morrow morning would to the living tree before it 
was felled and cast into the fire. We think fast and 
strongly in moments like these. I was soon com- 
posed enough to look at him again. I could meet 
his eyes better than he could mine. 

‘‘ ‘ When did this begin ? ’ I asked. ‘ You should 
have told me of the change so soon as you noticed it.’ 

‘‘ ‘ I did not like to acknowledge that there was a 
change.’ He paused to wet his lips before he went 
on. They were dry and stiff. ‘ I fought against the 
conviction while I could. For days and weeks to- 
gether I would feel the same toward you as of old. 
It cost me no effort to write lovingly, and the thought 
of our marriage was pleasant. Then, without appa- 
rent cause, everything would be reversed. If I wrote, 
every endearing epithet was forced and heartless, 
and I shrank from anticipating the day of our union. 
I can’t say how it came about. I used to condemn 
myself as base and fickle ; but lately, I have ques- 
tioned whether the fault were not in our premature 
engagement.’ His words flowed more smoothly, 
now, as he entered upon his self-justification. 

“‘We had never been tried, Kuth. We were 
ignorant of the world and its ways ; and of the real 
state of our feelings. This gradual estrangement is 
the frequent consequence of precipitate action in 
* these matters. The selection of a partner for life is 
a very important step, and a man’s ideas and habits, 


264 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


and his feelings with them, undergo great modifica- 
tions when he enters a different circle from that in 
which he was reared.’ 

“ He stopped again. I think he was abashed at 
the sound of his own excuses. Uttered in this room, 
where we had plighted our troth, they must have 
sounded unlike the plausible arguments he had 
arranged among other scenes — the scenes and associ- 
ations that had weaned him from mej 

‘‘ ‘ You are quite right ! ’ I returned, as he ceased. 

I hope I said it calmly. I tried not to say it bitterly. 

‘ Consistency should be the rule of a man’s life. His 
wife should not be so unlike his chosen companions 
as to make him ashamed of her. I can foresee that 
you would be heartily ashamed of me. When I 
promised to marry you, it was in the hope that you 
would be happier with than without me. How, 
when that hope has gone, I should do you and my- 
self a harm, were I to regard the letter of our com- 
pact as anything but a hollow husk. We will throw 
it away, Reuben. I hope — I say it in solemn sin- 
cerity — that God will bless and prosper you. We 
will shake hands and say ‘ Good-by,’ as friends, not 
lovers, do.’ He threw his arms around me, as I 
stood up and offered him my hand. 

‘‘ H believe that I love you after all, Ruthy ! Ho 
other woman can ever make me so happy as you can. 
Try me again, won’t you % ’ 

“ ‘ Hever ! ’ I said. ‘ That is all over now 1 ’ 

“ Then he called me obdurate and vindictive, and ♦ 
warned me, that if he went to perdition without the 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


265 


guarding influences of my love, his blood would be 
upon my soul. There have been times when that 
has haunted me, too ! I wish, to-night, that he had 
spared me the threat. 

‘‘Well, he went, and I stayed ! That is the com- 
mon story, Phemie ! so common, people are apt to 
forget how mournful it is. To go, is to forget cha- 
grin, and wounded love, and perished hopes, in the 
whirl of the dizzy, busy world, that defies one to 
stand still long enough to think or to regret. To 
stay, is to be left to monotony and memory. I 
fought against both with indifferent success, until 
Reuben’s sister, who had been my bosom friend, came 
to me with the news that he was engaged to a beau- 
tiful girl in the city. Her father was wealthy, and 
she highly accomplished. That gave me the clue to 
all that he had not explained. There was no need, 
his sister said, that their marriage should be deferred 
until he had completed his medical course. It was 
to take place almost immediately, so soon as the 
wedding outfit could be procured. If I had believed 
that I was cured of my liking for him, I was unde- 
ceived by this news. I had just received the offer 
of a situation as governess in a family who lived two 
hundred miles away from my native place. The com- 
pensation was fair — or seemed so to my inexperience 
— and I made this the excuse for accepting the place 
without demur. I did not come home for a year. 
When I did, I learned that, in consequence of some 
disagreement between the wealthy citizen and his 
son-in-law expectant, the engagement had been 


266 


PHEMIKS TEMPTATION. 


broken off almost upon the eve of the marriage. The 
bride’s father was reputed to be ill-natured and ar- 
bitrary, and close upon the story of the rupture 
crept hints that the action of the parent was justi- 
fied by the dissipation of the intended bridegroom. 
His family maintained that he was plunged into evil 
habits by the mortification and disappointment at- 
tendant upon this affair, and when it became noto- 
rious that he had fallen from respectability as well 
as from virtue, they persisted in casting all the blame 
upon the author of thia one misfortune. 

“For ten years I heard nothing of him — ten 
years of work for myself and for others. I had 
gained a little reputation and laid aside a little 
money, and, I fancied, had learned how to forget. 
I was in a hospital one night, nursing a factory- 
girl who had been caught in the machinery of the 
mill and badly hurt. I was known to the physician 
in charge, and he granted me permission to watch 
with her until morning. She was under the influence 
of opium, and, seated by her bed as she slept, I had 
time to look about me. At nine o’clock a man was 
brought in, who had been picked up in the streets 
apparently dying. His clothes were soaked with 
rain and the mud of the gutter ; Jiis hair and beard 
were a filthy mass ; but there are some things I can- 
not speak of ! I went to him at the call of the phy- 
sician, the regular ward-nurse chancing to be engaged. 
The sick man was delirious — with fever, as we then 
thought. We found afterward that he had been par- 
tially insane for some months, and was well known 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


267 


in the lowest haunts of pickpockets and gamblers. 
I need not tell you who he was, nor how I recognized 
him, little by little, when I had cleansed his face and 
combed and cut his hair. Had the identification 
been instant, I might have lost my own senses. As 
it was, I had everything arranged by the time he was 
convalescent in body. In mind, he was less sound 
than before his illness. His parents and sisters were 
dead. The property bequeathed him by the former 
was squandered. He was an insane pauper. I put 
him into a lunatic asylum, and kept him there until 
his death. My relatives knew nothing of it. The 
friendly doctor kept my secret. The asylum author- 
ities recognized me as the agent of the patient’s 
friends. Twice a year I went to see him, but he 
never remembered me, except dimly as the hospital 
nurse. Sometimes, when I called, I could not see 
him. His paroxysms were often violent, and no 
visitor was admitted to his cell while they prevailed. 
When I received this answer, I went back to my 
work and waited until notified that the madness had 
subsided. He was well treated. I assured myself 
of this by vigilant espionage and by gifts to his 
keepers. His clothing was good and whole ; his 
food excellent, and whatever pleasures were com- 
patible with the rules of the institution were freely 
granted him. 

“ These are homely details, but they have had 
much to do with my inner life for fifteen years. Two 
days ago I had a telegraphic dispatch from the liead 
physician of the asylum to the effect that ‘ Keuben 


268 


PSEMIW8 TEMPTATION. 


Stilton was supposed to be dying.’ He lived two 
hours after I reached him. He suffered little, physi- 
cally, and his reason was beclouded to the last.” 

She made a busy pretence of tucking the blanket 
about baby, who had fallen asleep. 

Let me lay her down ! ” said Phemie, pityingly. 

“Hot yet ! I am almost through. I had long 
lived upon the fond fancy that he would know me 
when the end came. I had heard and read how the 
breath of the Death-angel often dispelled the gloom 
that rested upon the intellect of others similarly 
afflicted. It was a wild, blind desire. God knows 
best. If a gleam of intelligence had revisited the dis- 
tracted brain, he could not have recogmzed in me 
the blooming girl he had known in his and my better 
days. I appreciated the force of this when I took a 
final look at the white face, with its sharpened fea- 
tures and silver hair, before the coffln-lid was closed. 
I remembered, too, your favorite watchword, and, 
‘ thanking God, took courage.’ ” 

Phemie was weeping silently, but she smiled at 
this. “ May I remind you of another old favorite 
of us both, dear?” she asked, drawing nearer her 
friend. 

“ Death is but a covered way 
Which opens into light ; 

Wherein no blinded child can stray 
Beyond the Father’s sight.” • 

Miss Darcy rocked baby Puth to and fro, her 
countenance, meanwhile, regaining its usual expres- 
sion of tranquil decision. “ I am spoiling her, I sup- 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


269 


pose ! ” she said presently, abruptly. “ She ought 
to be in her cradle. I wouldn’t rock her, though, 
unless she should stir. The motion is injurious to 
the brain — so say modern doctors. But doctors — 
ancient and modern — are humbugs, I think ! ” 






CHAPTER XIY. 

HE result of Reuben Stilton’s death had not 
been thought of by Phemie when she sought 
to console the solitary mourner over his 
tomb — the woman whose life had carried 
within it, for a quarter of a century, a ro- 
mance of love, sorrow, and fidelity, that put to shame 
the pretentious sentiments and griefs blazoned upon 
the surface of petty and querulous hearts. A large 
proportion of Miss Darcy’s income had been appro- 
priated to the support of her faithless lover. With 
this she could now make a home for herself and fam- 
ily, to wit, Phemie and her baby. 

When these last returned to the city, it was to take 
possession of a quaint little house of many gables and 
angles, which, being part of a contested estate, was 
rented at a low rate, provided the tenant would keep 
it in repair. Miss Darcy complied with the stipula- 
tion by having it thoroughly cleaned and whitewashed 
within, and seeing that doors and windows were well 
hung. ‘Wentilation was a prime consideration in a 
house where there was a baby.” For the same reason, 



PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION, 


271 


she had an open, freely-burning grate put into Phe- 
mie’s sitting-room, which was also the nursei-y. A 
nursery should be the lightest, warmest, most airy 
chamber in the building.” There was a tiny yard in 
front of the cottage, which stood upon a corner of 
two moderately wide streets, and in the rear a paved 
court, surrounded by a narrow border of mould, where 
flowers had once grown. Miss Darcy meditated a 
vari-colored fringe of blossoms on the inside of the old 
brick wall, when spring and summer should arrive. 
‘‘ Children were always fond of flowers.” A sturdy 
linden — not tall, but bushy — stood on one side of the 
court, and would furnish grateful shade when in leaf, 
in which baby could play. In fine, this queer old- 
fashioned edifice, which people witli architectural 
tastes condemned as a blot upon a neat neighborhood 
—its gray walls, sloping roof, and irregular rows of 
casements contrasting offensively, in their eyes, with 
the trim rectangular blocks of “ genteel private resi- 
dences,” stretching away up and down the streets in 
^ double lines — was a very peai’l of cottages in Miss 
Darcy’s opinion, and must have been planned with 
express reference to the needs and delights of baby- 
dom. 

She installed her family ” by putting Phemie and 
baby in the two best chambers, and a middle-aged 
colored widow in the kitchen, and, taking the back 
parlor for her own study, removed thither the well- 
worn floor oil-cloth ; the oaken desks and uncompro- 
mising chairs ^ the book-shelves and the books from 
her old office, and slid, with a will, into the groove 


272 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION, 


of ‘‘ business.’^ It was a busy winter with Phemie, 
likewise. Little Kuth, after the manner of small 
ladies who have been pampered in the beginning, had 
a decided perception of her rights, and manifested a 
determination to secure these that interfered sadly, 
for a time, with the play of her mother’s pen or 
needle. She liked to be dandled and noticed as well 
as if she had been born to a spacious nursery, a rose- 
wood crib with lace curtains, a silver pap-boat, and a 
French or Swiss honne. Phemie did not rebel at her 
demands upon her time and strength until she dis- 
covered that she was earning only half as much as 
she had done during the summer, and that her health 
was suffering from late hours and overwork. Then 
she held a consultation with her better judgment,- and 
decreed that lady Puth must be reared as are the 
children of the industrious poor, and consigned her 
to a blanket and pillow upon the floor instead of 
being “ cuddled ” upon her lap ; gave her a rattle 
and a string of spools in lieu of making faces for her 
amusement, and dancing her upon her hand. It was 
a hard lesson for baby; harder for Miss Darcy ; hard- 
est of all for the mother. Morning after morning 
she bent over her accounts or copying, pity and grief 
tugging at her heart-strings in one mighty strain of 
maternal anguish, as the angry scream, and anon, the 
piteous wail of the neglected child pierced her ears. 
She worked slowly, thus situated, but she performed 
her task mechanically well by dint of determined 
abstraction of her mind — she could not control her 
sympathies — from wLat was going on about her. 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. . 


273 


Baby was quick-tempered, but forgiving, and always 
forgot the maltreatment of the day in the bath, and 
romp, and caresses that prepared her for bed, and 
compensated the mother, in some measure, for the 
violence she had done her own feelings in carrying 
out the discipline prescribed by Duty and I7ecessity. 

She had no society outside the house. Emily and 
Olive called, perhaps once a month, to see how she 
was getting along, and to apologize for not coming 
often er. Each had a young child of her own, upon 
whose fat shoulders the parents’ shortcomings in sis- 
terly affection were laid. ‘ 

‘‘You know for yourself, Phemie, how impossible 
it is to get out when one has a child upon her hands 
— and . think of my live ! ” Emily would exclaim, 
pathetically. 

“ And my two ! babies, both of them ! ” Olive 
would supplement her, and then they would tap 
Kuthy’s head and say they were “ detaining mamma 
from her writing,” and vanish for another four or five 
weeks. Joe, more considerate, as he was more con- 
stant, spent an hour with his sister-in-law every Sab- 
bath afternoon or evening, and he was the only gen- 
tleman beside her Uncle Albert with whom baby was 
acquainted. She would testify rapture at sight of 
either, ere the winter was over, associating both as 
she did with playthings and bonbons. “Sweets” 
were interdicted by mamma and “auntie,” but they 
were lenient respecting the delicate comfits and sugar 
gingerbread brought into their presence in Joe’s 
pockets. They might confiscate the dainties when 


274 - PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION, 

he had gone, but baby was allowed to devour them 
in moderation while he remained. 

Under these genial influences baby grew in stature, 
and when she had conquered her aversion to taking 
care of herself — in grace and sweetness of disposition. 
To the lonely and toHing women, she was the ‘‘ well- 
spring” in an otherwise bleak waste; resting them 
in their weariness; diverting melancholy musings 
into a healthier channel, and bringing such solace to 
their sore and yearning hearts as only little children 
and God’s angels are commissioned to bear. It was 
a hard year with them, pecuniarily. Both had had 
heavy expenses about the time of baby’s advent, and 
the “ dull seasons ” which recurred at the end of 
every three years with a regularity that was con- 
firmatory of Doctor Sampson’s theory of “ universal 
peeriodeecity,” strained, as they ever do, the employ- 
ed more severely than the capitalist. 

“ Literature,” said one who deserves, for the saying, 
to be enrolled among the wise ones of his generation, 
“ is a good staff, but a poor crutch.” Of its merits in 
the former capacity, let those wLo have stayed their 
weary frames upon it in the toilsome march of life, 
speak in warm gratitude. But the maimed or crip- 
ple had better creep on all fours than trust his whole 
weight to the polished and brittle support. 

When spring opened, and baby could roll about 
the floor, the one servant was dismissed, and the 
drudgery of housework added to the label's of the two 
friends. They achieved these as they did the rest — ^by 
patient and systematic diligence. Work was to each 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 275 

a panacea, and their aims were the same. Their 
wants were few ; their habits simple, and they were 
strong in their faith in the Father ; in their love for 
each other and for baby. So the year passed, and with 
the opening of the next, their prospects brightened. 
Phemie had written a new book. A publisher of 
known benevolence — when benevolence tallied with 
his self-interest — ^liad given it to the public, and the 
reading public — also benevolent — had condescended 
to express itself as gratified by the perusal. It was 
not a great success, “ going ofi*” by the ten thousand, 
faster than the printing-presses and binderies could 
supply the demands of ravenous readers, and the pro- 
ceeds did not enable the author to set up her coach- 
and-four, and recline for the rest of her existence upon 
a satin couch, fanned by peacocks’ feathers — her hea- 
viest duty being the exertion attendant upon the ut- 
terance of peremptory “Hoes ! ” to importunate edi- 
toi*s and publishers. Hor did this second book bring 
in the returns she would have received as the queen 
of fashion and the wife of the popular merchant. I 
am sorry to be obliged to add that it would have sold 
better had scandal been more busy with her name 
than with her husband’s ; if she had run away from 
him and not he deserted her ; if, instead of living in 
a shabby little house, working for her daily bread, and 
seeing nobody, she had inhabited a handsome suite of 
rooms at the expense of some “ gallant, gay Lothario ” 
about town, and her volume had been advertised as 
an autobiography. There was nothing autobiographi- 
cal about it, decided those who were familiar with 


276 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


tlie leading events of lier life, and even the philan- 
thropic publisher hinted that he had expected “ some- 
thing more sensational, more taking, knowing what 
materials must be in her possession, and that truth 
was stranger than fiction — a quotation, which every 
one who essays to convey truth through the medium 
of parables has heard until he is ready to wish that 
the man who said it first had been decapitated before 
it quite escaped his tongue. 

But the book had a steady sale, being interpene- 
trated with the writer’s hearty love of truth ; her 
sympathy with the lowly and oppressed, and her 
charity for the erring ; her earnest desire to do good, 
and to lead the hearts of all — the wrong- doer and the 
wronged ; the lofty and the humbled ; the wise and 
the weak — to the Author of Goodness, Strength, and 
Love. When the knowledge dawned upon her that 
the mission of her waif was, in some degree, accom- 
plished, she thanked God and took courage.” There 
was many an Appii Forum in her pilgrimage. 

They had spent two Christmases in the corner 
house, and the eve of the third had come. There 
were extraordinary preparations in the small estab- 
lishment for the anniversary. Albert was to spend it 
with them as he had done the two former, and Uncle 
Joe had signified his intention of bringing around 
little Joe, and maybe Oliver, on Christmas afternoon 
to play with Kuth. Auntie had taken great pains to 
enlighten Kuth as to the being and business of Santa 
Claus, and her stockings were to be hung by the sit- 
ting-room mantel before she was put to bed that night. 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


277 


Phemie had worked hard since sunrise, upon an ar- 
ticle she had engaged should be in the printer’s hands 
by six o’clock p. m. It was a Christmas story for a 
sprightly little Daily, and she would be well paid for 
it. Like Miss Darcy, she did piece-work,” but only 
occasionally. Thus far, her reputation as an author 
was of a higher grade than her friend’s. Her servi- 
ces were sought with greater eagerness, and her con- 
tributions commanded better prices. 

. “You will never sink into a literary pack-horse,” 
the elder lady would say in unselfish gratification. 
“ But while pack-horses can be useful, I do not re- 
pine.” 

Baby had been preternaturally good for several 
days. She was in perfect training by this time, or as 
perfect as an only child could be, who was the idol 
of two loving women. Yet there was something 
plaintive in the quietude that fell upon her whenever 
mamma’s desk was wheeled up to the window ; in 
the docility with which she would betake herself to 
her play-corner, and turn over picture books ; build 
block houses, or nurse her doll, whispering her baby 
prattle all the while, lest she should disturb the 
writer. “ Baby been dood, auntie ! Baby didn’t ’peak 
a word to-day ! ” was her usual report to Miss Darcy, 
when the summons to dinner unloosed her tongue ; 
a naive description of her unbabylike habits it always 
saddened the mother’s heart to hear. 

In compassion to both, Miss Darcy would, when- 
ever her own work was not pressing, beg that she 
might go with her down to the “ Office,” and her vi- 


278 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


sitors were, long since, used to the pretty picture of 
the child ensconced under the tall desk keeping baby- 
house, or entrenching herself behind laboriously-con- 
structed ramparts of severe-looking volumes that ap- 
peared miserably stiff and ill at ease under her chubby 
hands. But auntie had been busy this week as well 
as mamma — so busy that Ruth had not had one race 
over the defaced oil-cloth, and the dry tomes dozed un- 
molested upon the shelves, save when one was jerked 
out and fluttered hurriedly as the owner sought a 
passage bearing upon the subject she had in hand. 
Altogether, baby had a stupid time of it until mamma 
took a long buff envelope from a table drawer, and 
smiled across the room at the little watcher, who had 
exhausted the resources of toys and pictures, and sat, 
half asleep, upon a cushion, her hands clasped over 
her apron — a comical, yet lovely, impersonation of pa- 
tience. Ruth knew what the envelope meant as well 
as her mother did, and laughed out in her glee. 

Most done, mamma ? ” she cried, jumping up and 
trotting over to her as fast as the fat legs could carry 
her. 

“Yes, my darling ! Row mamma will call Sylvia 
and let her play with you here for awhile. Mamma 
is going out to see Santa Claus, and tell him about 
baby’s stockings.” 

Sylvia was the half-grown daughter of a seamstress 
formerly employed by Mrs. Hart, at Miss Darcy’s 
recommendation, and had been recently received into 
the family as maid-of-?irlittle-of-all-work. She was a 
cleanly, good-tempered girl, and was often intrusted 


PHEMIWS TEMPTATION. 2T9 

witli the guardianship of the little one when the 
mother was obliged to leajre her. 

The evening was bright, but very cold. The stars 
overhead and the twinkling of multitudinous lamps 
on the earth could not win the pedestrian to obli- 
viousness of the stinging air that changed her breath 
to fine snow-fiakes, and pricked into her face like a 
shower of cambric needles. She had a long walk 
before her, and was rather glad that the intense cold 
compelled her to move rapidly, gave her something 
to think of beside the ghosts of other holidays that 
trooped about her at sight of the illuminated windows, 
the noisy, happy throng that filled the sidewalk, and 
the family groups within the gayly-decorated shops. 
The Christmases of her childhood, the more modest 
celebrations of the day in the humble home of her 
widowed mother, w’here every gift was purchased by 
self-denial, and was the dearer to the recipient, more 
blessed to the donor that this was so ; the Christmas 
after Charlotte’s death when Robert Hart had writ- 
ten to her, renewing his suit, and the world had sud- 
denly glowed with radiance, as did the fields of Beth- 
lehem under the brightness of the angelic cohort; the 
Christmas in Merry England that succeeded their mar- 
riage, the two gayest, most unhappy of all she had 
passed in the mansion of which she was nominally 
mistress, each craved a thought and a sigh. 

It seemed so long since the latest of these ! Robert 
had expressed his intention of dining at his own table, 
en families he said, with a sneer that was to the 
childless wife a reproach to her loneliness. But she 


280 


PHEMIE^a TEMPTATION. 


had hailed his wish as a sign of returning love for 
home and her, declined all other invitations for the 
day and evening, and in the afternoon dressed herself 
with nncommon care, and sat in the parlor awaiting 
his coming until the elegant dinner she had ordered 
was spoiled by the delay, and she was faint to sickness 
with inanition and suspense. At eleven o’clock she 
had gone to her room for the night, but it was nearly 
one before he came in. She never asked what had 
kept him away, and he did not allude to the matter. 
He had either forgotten his voluntary engagement, 
or been tempted by more attractive society to break 
it, and did not deign to account to her for his whims. 
The fear of being ruled by her was always dominant 
in his mind. 

‘‘Poor Eobert ! how little he knew me ! ” she mut- 
tered, still holding on her rapid way up the steep 
street wEereon was the office of the lively Daily. 
“Where is he now? Do they keep Christmas in 
Australia, I wonder ? Perhaps he is no longer there.” 

She had not heard once from him since she read his 
cruel farewell letter. Mr. Mallory had told Miss 
Darcy that he had tracked him to an English steamer, 
and, subsequently, had reliable information to the 
effect that he had sailed from England for Australia. 
There, all trace ceased. There was no incentive to 
continue the investigation — at least on the part of 
his late associate in business. He had wound up the 
affairs of the concern by a sharp compromise with 
the creditors, and, having aired his rather unsavory 
commercial reputation by six months of foreign travel 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


281 


with his wife and children, had returned to give his 
sister Clara in marriage to an elderly millionaire; 
established himself in another branch of trade, and 
was reputed to be making money. The question 
in the minds of many as to whether he had ever lost 
any, in no wise hindered the success of the new enter- 
prise. Phemie never met him, or any of his family — 
rarely thought of them. She was too busy to waste 
reflection upon unprofitable subjects. But the me- 
mory of her husband was with her continually. She 
could as soon have forgotten her existence as ceased 
to think of and to pray for him. Purified by sorrow, 
reconciled by the pain of separation and tender recol- 
lections of what she had been to him, he would be 
given back to her in the Father’s good time. It was 
less a hope than a conviction with her that this must^ 
be — a belief wrought by the faith whose I will not 
let Thee go ! ” must prevail in the end. She did not, 
in her most despondent moments, sit down and weep 
that her life had been a failure. She had done her 
best. The result had been as God willed. 

The editor was in his sanctum, and the cheer of 
Christmas Eve was in his lank visage as he com- 
mended her promptitude; paid her for her article, 
with the hope that she would be able to favor him 
with another very soon, and offered her, in advance, 
the compliments of the season. 

The wind was colder than ever when she again 
dared the outer air. She stopped, with an audible 
shudder, at the foot of the office steps, and tied her 
scarf more closely about her throat. The side-walk 


283 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


was narrow, and a man, wrapped in a shawl, with a 
comforter over his chin, stepped off the curb-stone 
into the gutter, in brushing past her, grumbling some- 
thing that might have been either an apology or an 
execration. Whatever it was, she bent her head 
slightly, in token that she put the more charitable 
construction upon his abruptness, and pressed toward 
the thronged thoroughfare at the lower end of the 
steep cross-street. She was obliged to walk more 
slowly when she gained it, and, despite her sadness, 
was interested and diverted by the motley crowd, the 
snatches of conversation that fell upon her ear from 
one and another of the merry groups, the excited gazers 
through the plate-glass that screened the confection- 
er’s and toy-seller’s wares from lawless fingers, and 
the universal good-humor animating the moving and 
meeting masses. She, too, had her purchases to 
make — a few trifles for Ruth and the little Bonneys, 
who had sent, through their father, presents of con- 
siderable value to their cousin. She was standing as 
near the counter of a toy merchant as she could get, 
awaiting her turn to be served, and whiling away the 
time by scanning the various phases of infantine de- 
light and parental indulgence that were the principal 
features of the lively scene, when, chancing to glance 
toward the window, she met the fixed stare of a pair 
of dark eyes fastened, not upon the attractive contents 
of the shop, but upon herself. They were gone with 
the visible start that betrayed her consciousness of 
their scrutiny, and she had time, before the salesman 
could attend to her, to reason herself into disbelief 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


283 


of tlie reality of tlie apparition, to quiet the thrill — 
partly apprehension, partly recognition, that had set 
pulses and thoughts flying dizzily. 

‘‘ My fancies are shaped by my wishes, to-night,” 
she said, inwardly, with a smile of self-pity. “ I have 
imagined the same thing a hundred times before, and 
nothing came of it.” 

Her parcels were bulky, although not heavy, and 
required so much of her attention for the rest of her 
walk that she paid no heed to casual encounters. Al- 
bert answered her ring at the door. He had arrived 
since she went out, and, familiar with her step, has- 
tened into the hall from the dining-room on the first 
floor. “ Your face is like ice ! ” he exclaimed, as he 
kissed her. “ It is piercing cold, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Yes ; but a glorious night ! ” Phemie cast a part- 
ing glance at the dark-blue vault above her, brave in 
its Christmas jewels. 

Albert could not see these, but he heard what she 
could not — the momentary halt of a footstep at the lit- 
tle gate. Then it passed on. “ Who is that, Phemie ? ” 
he whispered, resisting her motion to shut the door. 

‘‘ Who ? Where ? ’’ 

The man that went by just now. Can you see 
him ? ” 

‘‘ He has just turned the corner. I can see his hat 
above the fence. Why do you want to know ?” 

“I thought it might be an acquaintance,” he 
returned, evasively. “ But the house is filling with 
the frosty air, and Bonnie Kuthie is wild with impa- 
tience to see you.” 


284 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


She sat upon Miss Darcy’s knee before the blazing 
grate in the dining-room, her eyes dancing, her 
cheeks and lips vivid with rosy excitement. Auntie 
was in the midst of the fiftieth repetition of that 
never-to-be-worn-out nursery classic, ‘‘ ’Twas the 
night before Christmas.” 

“ I wonder that you lend your countenance to such 
idle fables ! ” said Albert, relieving his sister of her 
bundles, and, after forcing her down into an arm- 
chair, untying her bonnet, unpinning her shawl, and 
rubbing her benumbed fingers. 

He was the only person who ever petted her now, 
and, viewing her as his earthly all, he bestowed 
upon her love and caresses in bountiful measure. 

Miss Darcy laughed good-humoredly. “ Don’t hit 
a fellow when he is down, Bertie. You are as great 
a slave as I am, and you can’t deny it.” 

‘‘ I don’t want to. I glory in my thraldom.” He 
had drawn his sister’s head to his shoulder as he sat 
beside her, and she smiled wearily, but happily, up 
into his face. “ First the mother, then the daughter 
have led me in silken chains until I have forgotten 
how it feels to be my own master.” 

Phemie put up her hand to clasp his, and Miss 
Darcy resumed her recitation. 


“ As I drew in my head and was turning around, 

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.” 

Good Heavens ! ” 

She had put the child down and stood, facing the 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


285 


window, with a look that terrified Phemie, knowing, 
as she did, her friend’s strength of nerve and habit 
of self-control. She turned in the same direction, 
but saw nothing except the blank panes of the upper 
sash, and, across the lower, the wire blind tliat 
protected the interior of the room from the gaze of 
passers-bj. “ What did you see ? ” she inquired. 
‘‘ There is nothing there now.” 

I thought I saw a face peering in above the blind 
— a man’s face!” replied the other. “It startled 
me ! Yet I am not easily frightened. The shut- 
ters should have been closed at dark, but I had a 
foolish notion about letting the light of happy fire- 
sides shine into the darker world without. I did not 
like to cheat any poor homeless wretch out of the 
glimpse of a Christmas blaze.” 

She rallied from her fright, and spoke in a mock 
dramatic tone, as ridiculing her bit of sentimentalism. 
“I will close them now,” said Phemie, rising. “Your 
man’s face probably belonged to some mischievous 
boy who clambered upon the window-sill. The streets 
are alive with them.” 

Miss Darcy held her back. “ You shall do no 
such thing. I will attend to it. The young scara- 
mouch may be lurking there still, ready to spring at 
whomsoever may look out. He won’t terrify me into 
hysterics.” 

She undid and removed the wire blind, raised the 
sash, and took a deliberate survey of the premises. 
The gas lights were bright, the pavement and yard 
empty. 


286 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


‘^All right!” she said. “He is, I suppose, like 
Chevy Slyme, waiting around the corner, concocting 
some other brilliant scheme.” 

She finished her story to Ruthie, put the lumps 
of coal together in the grate, wondered why Sylvia 
did not bring in supper, and left the room, ostensibly 
to hurry her movements. In the hall she turned 
toward the front dooy instead of the kitchen, unbolted 
it noiselessly, and went out down the steps to the 
gate. A tall man, wrapped in a shawl, was walking 
slowly up the street. His back was toward her, and 
his gait was deliberate and natural, but she could 
have been sure that he had just left the shadow of the 
wall inclosing her little garden. He stooped slightly, 
and wore a slouched hat, and it might have been a 
freak of her excited imagination that detected some- 
thing strangely familiar in his height and carriage. 
While she leaned upon the gate and watched him a 
policeman came up. 

“ Anything wrong. Miss Darcy ? ” 

He knew and respected her, as did most of the so- 
called lower classes, and put the query with an honest 
desire to serve her. 

“Hot that I know of, Johnson.” 

But her evident indecision made him stay to hear 
more. If she had been wrong in her impression that 
the face at the window was not that of a stranger, if 
the impertinent Paul Pry should prove to be a burglar, 
misinformed as to the value of the booty to be obtained 
by effecting an entrance into the lowly dwelling, who 
should return in the dead of night to carry out his de- 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


287 


signs, would she not blame the absurd scruples that 
had hindered her from putting the officer on his guard? 

“ I imagined that I saw a mJin hanging around the 
house this evening,” she said;. “I may have been mis- 
taken, but you had better keep an eye upon us when 
it grows late enough for honest people to be in bed.” 

“ I will, madam. These are ticklish times.” 

They exchanged a friendly Good-night,” and Miss 
Darcy returned to her tea-table and her family. The 
meal was merry with bab\^’s playfulness and precocious 
sayings ; Albert’s enjoyment of his holiday, and 
Phemie’s delight in “ her children.” The melancholy 
thoughts of an hour before had fled before the reviv- 
ing effect of the meeting with her brother ; the cheer 
and warmth of home, and the happiness of “ Bonnie 
Rutliie.” She proved her right to the nickname her 
uncle had bestowed, tOjhim, as to those who could 
watch her winsome beauty. 

“ Let her sit up ! ” he pleaded, when Phemie dis- 
mounted the tricksy sprite from his shoulder, with the 
information that it was bedtime. It is Christmas — 
remember ! ” 

‘‘ Only Christmas Eve,” was the reply. “ To-morrow 
night, Joey and Oliver wdll take supper with us. She 
may sit up an hour later than usual, then. Ho, no, 
uncle ! ‘ Early to bed and early to rise ! ’ And I 

prophesy a — to us — lamentably early unsealing of 
those bright eyes, in the morning. How, auntie, 
uncle — the solemn ceremony of hanging up the stock- 
ings will be performed up-stairs. Will you assist ?” 

The cavalcade moved in due order — auntie leading 


288 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


the way, with baby in her arms. The stockings were 
suspended by baby’s fingers, that trembled while they 
did it. Then she said her prayers at mamma’s knee, 
the others standing by, in rapt attention upon the 
lisped petitions — after which uncle and auntie kissed 
her red, wet lips, still apart with smiles ; said, in one 
breath, “ God bless her ! ” and left her to be undressed 
and put to bed by her mother. 

The crooked stairway ran in a demented manner, 
close down to the front door, and Miss Darcy and her 
guest were upon the lowest step, when they paused at 
sound of angry tones without. A brisk altercation 
was going on in the yard, and while Albert’s face took 
on the ashy hue of rage or fear, as one of the speakers 
raised his voice in an oath that was distinctly audible 
to those within, Miss Darcy unlocked the door and 
threw it open. The policeman, Johnson, was there, 
with a tall man, whose shawl had been plucked or 
had fallen back from his shoulders, and whose eyes 
gleamed fury from the shadow of his slouched hat. 

‘‘What does this mean?” said Miss Darcy, authori- 
tatively. 

“ I leave you to say, madam, what it does mean ! ” 
answered the policeman, warmly. “ When a man as 
calls himself a gentleman and a visitor to your fam’ly, 
first tries the back gate, then tiptoes to look over the 
garden wall, and then sneaks in at the front gate, and 
is about to peek in between the slats of the kitchen- 
blinds, and when I steps up and requests him, in a 
polite way, to move on, files out and cusses me — you 
know, yourself, Miss Darcy, he’s up to no good! You 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. • 289 

told me, not two hours ago, to keep an eje on 
him.” 

The stranger tore off his comforter and bai-ed his 
head. 

“ Can you determine, by this light, whether I am 
the person you wish to arrest, Miss Darcy?” he 
‘demanded, in haughty petulance. 

The gesture and accent were enough, had she not 
seen his face. 

“ There is some mistake here, Johnson ! ” was her 
response, uttered with a certain desolate tremulous- 
ness that checked the man’s inclination to comment 
further upon the behavior of her acquaintance. I 
know this gentleman. He has friends living with 
me. Mr. Hart, will you walk in ? It is very cold 
out here.” 

Johnson touched his hat in sulky respect to the 
lady, and Eohert followed his hostess into the house. 
Albert had retreated to the supper-room, and still 
very pale, stood, with compressed mouth and frown- 
ing forehead, in the middle of the floor, his hands 
behind him. Kobert bent a searching, fiery look 
upon him in entering. 

They had not met in three years, and the boy 
had shot up into a man. He was nearly six feet in 
height, with marked, handsome features, and a dark 
moustache, that, with the pensive cast of countenance 
common to the sightless, and the dignity acquired in 
the lecture-room, made him look fully five years older 
than he was. In her perturbation the idea that the 
senior brother-in-law would not recognize the other 
13 


290 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


did not occur to Miss Darcy until Hart wheeled 
angrily upon her, with — ‘‘ May I trouble you to 
introduce this gentleman to me, madam. Unless I 
am mistaken, my business with him should be settled 
first of all.” 

He had his hand in his bosom, and his malignant 
sneer stilled the blood at Miss Darcy’s heart. 

‘‘ It is Albert Rowland ! ” she said hastily. “ I 
supposed that you had recognized him, or I should 
have told you who he was.” 

“ Is it possible ? ” the menacing look passed through 
the degrees of incredulity and conviction into an 
embarrassed attempt at a smile. ‘‘ I was near mak- 
ing an awkward blunder,” he said, ungraciously. ‘‘ It 
is well for you, young man, that I found out my mis- 
take in time. Well! have you no welcome for your 
sister’s husband after his three years of absence ? ” 

“ I shall be better able to answer your question 
when I have heard your apology for your desertion 
of her, and your silence during those three years,” 
retorted Albert, without changing his position except 
by rearing his head defiantly. 

He resembled his sister so strongly, as he did this, 
that Miss Darcy involuntarily glanced at Hart to 
note the effect of the likeness upon him. It did not 
soften him, for he turned from the boy with a short, 
disagreeable laugh. 

“ Since I am likely to wait some time for a brotherly 
greeting from one who was formerly a pensioner 
upon my bounty, may I ask you. Miss Darcy, to 
notify Mrs. Hart — if she still owns the name — that I 


PEEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


291 


am here ? I put no force upon her inclinations. She 
need not see me if she does not wish it. If her 
requisitions are the same as those of this, her doughty 
knight, she had better excuse herself from coming 
down.’’ He threw himself upon a chair, his back 
toward Albert. 

“ Mrs. Hart will be glad to see you,” Miss Darcy 
controlled herself to say. “She has always found 
excuses for your going, and your prolonged ab- 
sence.” 

Justice to Phemie would not let her say less. 
The intolerable heart-faintness that seized her, pre- 
vented her from saying more. She went out into the 
hall ; up the zigzag staircase, and pushed open the 
door of the snug sitting-room, where Phemie sat in 
the dusky glow of the firelight, crooning the sweet- 
est of cradle-songs to her babe. 

“ G-ently rest ! the night-stars gleam ; 

Soft thy slumbers, sweet thy dream; 

Fear no harm, for I will keep 
Watch with Love, while thou’rt asleep. 

Oh, hush thee, now, in slumbers mild, 

While watch I keep, oh, sleep, my child 1 ” 



CHAPTER XY. 


OBERT HART had never been to Aus- 
tralia. His wife even doubted, from stray- 
hints that escaped him, from time to time, 
whether he had ever left the American 
Continent. He had been “ knocking about 
the world,” he told her, cavalierly, “ and he wouldn’t 
be bored with questions as to how he had spent his 
time.” He did not reciprocate the forbearance he 
exacted from her in this regard. He required a suc- 
cinct account of her mode of life and occupations 
while left to her own resources, and so far from ex- 
hibiting repentance at learning how she had strug- 
gled to secure her present footing of comparative 
comfort, concealed but poorly his gratification that 
she had found the task of self-support no easy one. 

“Almost as irksome as dependence upon a hus- 
band for a livelihood, wasn’t it ? ” he said, tweaking 
her ear, as she finished her story. “ Ah, little one, 
men may be great fools, but women are greater ! ” 
The blood mounted to Phemie’s temples, but she 
said nothing. 



PEEM1W8 TEMPTATION. 


293 


The ideal Robert, set in the snbdued light of mis- 
fortune and unjust obloquy ; touched and retouched 
by her fond fancy, had borne the symmetrical pro- 
portions and noble lineaments of her early love. 
For him she had longed, and looked, and waited; 
him she was prepared to receive into the arms of her 
wifely affection ; to serve and to obey for the re- 
mainder of their united lives. The return of the 
real Robert broke the charm. She did not know the 
shabby-genteel loafer who . presented himself as a 
claimant for her loving duty — a man prematurely 
old ; broken in health, and with the unmistakable 
taint of profligacy stamped upon his features, his 
bearing, and his language. He had deteriorated 
fearfully since the date of his disappearance below 
the horizon df fashionable life. Never inherently 
strong, when he was once thrown upon a downward 
grade, there were no brakes ready to his hand to keep 
him from rushing to ruin with headlong speed. 
Whatever money he had carried away with him, he 
had brought none back. Drawn by some strange 
fascination to the scene of his former prosperity and 
subsequent humiliation, he had tossed about on the 
turbulent tide of Bohemian life for two days, unre- 
cognized by a single old acquaintance, until he ran 
against his wife at the door of the printing-oflice. 
He knew her on the instant, and dogged her home. 
It was his face which Miss Darcy had espied gazing 
in upon the happy family group. 

Phemie recoiled, with a cry of virtuous horror— a 
swift upspringing of righteous anger and womanly 


294 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


revulsion of feeling against the author of the insult, 
when he told her he had not known Albert, and be- 
lieved she had married a second time, thinking he 
would never return, and that the child in Miss Darcy’s 
lap was the offspring of the iniquitous union. 

Sit still ! ” ordered her husband, laughing im- 
moderately at her blanched face, blazing eyes, and 
frantic effort to free herself from the embrace that 
held her down upon his knee. ‘‘ The mistake was a 
very natural one,” he pursued, when he could speak. 
‘‘ Other women have comforted themselves with new 
loves in a shorter time than you had for consolation. 
And, recollecting Miss Darcy’s partiality for isms^ 
how was I to know that you and she had not imbibed 
Free Love notions, and carried them into practice ? 
By the way, that brother of yours is^^a handsome 
puppy, but a confoundedly insolent one.” 

Phemie ceased to struggle. “ Is this Robert Hart ? ” 
she said, in scornful incredulity. Can this man, who 
laughs over the confession of his doubts of his wife’s 
honor; who ascribes to her principles and actions of 
which pure women, who love their lawful husbands, 
cannot hear without shame and sorrow ; who couples 
with his mention of these the name of his and her 
child; who defames the brother to whom he was 
once a generous benefactor — can this be he whom I 
used to love and respect as the noblest of his kind ? 
Let me go, Robert ! You said once — many times — 
long ago, that we could never understand one an- 
other. I believe it now !” i*?- ^ 

“As you like!” Robert released her, and eyed 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


295 


her contemptuously, as she walked from him to the 
window to conceal her emotion. ‘‘You have not out- 
lived your taste for sham heroics, I perceive. They^ 
won’t go down with me, Phemie, any more than they 
used to. I came home, determining that it should 
not be my fault if we did not live together peaceably. 
And here you are in a tantrum”— an oath — “before 
I have been with you twenty-four hours. I call this 
deuced unhandsome behavior ! And all because, 
when — moved by a desire to ascertain if the coast is 
clear, before introducing myself to your presence — I 
peep in at the window, and seeing a good-looking 
buck of a fellow, with his arm about your waist, I 
am disposed to be jealous of him, and doubtful of 
your constancy.” 

“We wil^drop the subject, if you please!” said 
Phemie, without turning around. 

“Agreed! Start your own topics. I am com- 
plaisant — only remarking, as a finale to this chapter, 
that public characters — especially public women — 
are usually less squeamish.” 

They were in Phemie’s sitting-room, and it was 
Christmas afternoon. Puth, worn out with play and 
excitement, was asleep in the next room. Joe Bonney 
had come in after dinner, to take Albert to see Emily. 
If one had looked into the “ office,” he would have 
seen Miss Darcy at her desk, her head bent upon her 
crossed arms, in an attitude of deep dejection ; her 
heart racked with fears for the welfare of her trea- 
sures, now that the husband and father had assumed 
the guardianship of them. Had she surmised the 


296 


PREMIERS TEMPTATION. 


import of the dialogue going on between the two up- 
stairs, she could not have foreseen more distinctly the 
results of the prodigal’s return. 

‘‘While I think of it,” resumed Hart, presently, 
seeing that his wife made no motion to continue the 
conversation, “let me inquire who is the head of this 
concern.” 

“I do not understand you,” said Phemie, dis- 
tantly. 

“ This house — this Cottage Queer!- Who supplies 
most capital — you, or Miss Darcy ? ” 

“We share the expense. Mine is heavier than 
hers, of course, as I have two to support.” 

“ Who pays the rent ? ” 

“ We divide it equally.” 

Phemie did not shirk the cross-examination. Ho 
was her legal proprietor, and had the right to know 
everything pertaining to her affairs. 

“ What possessed you to go into business with her, 
beside the wish to affront me by consorting with a 
woman who, you know, was more obnoxious to me 
than any other person alive ? ” 

“ I did not seek her. She came to me with help 
and sympathy when everybody else forsook me. She 
was mother and sister, to me when my owa mother 
and sisters looked askance at me. She has cherished 
me and my child with a love surpassing that of pa- 
rent or friend. She would have maintained us en- 
tirely, iJ' I would have permitted it.” 

“ It is a pity you did not. I have no doubt the 
connection has been creditable and profitable to her. 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 297 

Rely upon it, she has made money out of it. Have 
you kept any account of yom* expenditures ? ” 

“ I have.” 

‘‘ I shall examine them, and see that you have not 
been cheated. If this copartnemhip is to continue, 
you must have a written contract. I have no cpnfi- 
dence in that sly old maid.” 

Phemie was silent, but it was not the silence of 
submission, such as her husband’ was accustomed to 
read in her face. He was nettled to push her further. 

Moreover, unless she comports herself with great 
circumspection, she will have to clear out. She can’t 
lord it over me as she has over you, as I shall take an 
early opportunity of showing her. We may as well 
come to an understanding early as late.” He got up and 
shook out one leg, then the other, with the old assertion 
of masculinity she remembered so well. , “ Do’you hap- 
pen to have any change about you ? ” he asked, non- 
chalantly. “I want some cigars, and I am going to 
take a walk. Does that she-dragon of yours allow 
smoking upon her premises ? ” 

“ You can smoke in this room whenever you like. 
How much money do* you Tvant ? ” Phemie pro- 
duced her pocket-book. 

None ! if it is to be doled out to me in that style. 
You can keep your precious lucre. When I held the 
purse-strings, I never asked you how much or how 
little you needed. I gave freely to you of my wealth 
while it lasted^ But this is a fair specimen of the 
gratitude of your sex.” He caught up his hat in real 
or affected indignation, and moved toward the door. 


298 


PREMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


“ One moment ! ” said Phemie, calmly. “ I re- 
ceived thirty dollars last night for a story upon which 
I had worked a week. I spent five on my way home. 
The rest you will find in here. The law gives it to 
you, if you choose to take it. If it did not, I should 
still regard it, and all the rest of my earnings as due 
to you, in consideration of what you have done for 
me in the past. There is no difference of opinion 
between us on that subject, at any rate.” 

She put the pocket-book into his hand. With a 
murmur of ‘‘ refunding the loan very soon,” he took 
it and departed. 

The change which his coming produced in the late 
quiet and orderly household, however offensive it 
may have been to Miss Darcy, did not provoke her 
to any manifestation of disapproval. She submitted 
to the delayed breakfast ; the five o’clock dinner ; 
the fumes of tobacco and hot punch that pervaded 
the halls and staircase whenever he spent the eve- 
ning in his wife’s sitting-room ; to his supercilious 
notice of herself and criticism of her bills of fare, 
with a placid good-breeding that astonished Phemie, 
conversant as she was with the strong - minded 
woman’s powers of self-control. Her admiration and 
affection for her friend would have risen into vene- 
ration had she divined how much severer was the 
test applied to her forbearance by Hart’s tone to his 
wife and his slight regard for their child. 

He was “ on the look-out for a situation,” he con- 
descended to inform his vassal, and to this look-out, 
wherever it was, he repaired each forenoon, when 


PHEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


299 


the weather was moderately fine. His wont was to 
lounge into the breakfast-room two hours after Miss 
Darcy had dispatched hers and settled herself in the 
office ; eat the toast or muffins, and drink the strong 
cofiee his wife had kept hot for him ; discuss the egg 
she had boiled, the ham or fish she had broiled to 
tempt his slender appetite — mute and surly, or crossly 
quarrelsome. Baby was banished to the kitchen, if 
auntie were too busy to have her in the. office, for 
her prattle offended her father’s nerves. It was 
eleven o’clock before he was ready to quit the house, 
and until then, Phemie was kept in constant attend- 
ance. He was one of the men who act like a small 
whirlwind upon whatever household they enter. 
Had this boasted seven servants instead of half a 
one, he would have kept them all on the jump with 
his demands for personal service. Ignoring what 
was no secret to him, namely, that Sylvia’s labors 
were confined to the kitchen, and that, even there, 
she required the assistance of one of her mistresses at 
certain seasons, he expected to have his meals at 
whatever hours he designated ; coffee or chocolate in 
his chamber, when he was not disposed to come to 
the dining-room ; his boots polished and his coat 
brushed with the same degree of nicety he would 
have required from an accomplished valet ; hot water 
at all times of the day or night ; fires in* bed-room 
and parlor, and freedom from Kuth’s company ex- 
cept upon such rare occasions as he chose to amuse 
himself with her pranks, as he would have laughed 
at the gambols of a tame monkey. Her name was a 


300 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION, 


source of dire displeasure to him. It never passed 
his lips, and Phemie feared, sometimes, that he dis- 
liked the child because she bore it. Without ex- 
changing a syllable with Miss Darcy on the subject, 
she acknowledged to herself that his indifierence and 
often ill-humor toward her babe were, as in the elder 
lady’s case, the greatest trial she had to endure. 
The combined offices of shoe-black, valet, cook, and 
waiter were a draught upon her time she could not 
sustain without serious inconvenience. His capri- 
cious fondness for herself, with the alternation of 
coldness and unkindness, wearied Patience and wore 
out Love. But these were as nothing compared with 
the disappointment of her cherished hope that their 
infant was to be the instrument of the father’s re- 
generation. She had looked forward to this with a 
secure faith that was almost sublime ; had lived upon 
the anticipation until, when the hope was dashed, 
she felt, for the first time in her toilsome, strangely- 
crossed existence, that there was nothing left for 
which to toil and live ; wished, in apathetic abase- 
ment of spirit, that God would let her die. 

Yet there was stringent need for exertion. The 
expenses of the family were doubled by the late ad- 
dition to their number, and she would have worked 
herself into her grave before she would have let Miss 
Darcy be the poorer for it. It was sore labor — this 
call upon the brain for matter fresh, new, and at- 
tractive, when the body was weary and the heart 
aching. She could not conceal from herself the truth 
that what was penned in these circumstances con- 


PHEMIW/S TEMPTATION. 


301 


tributed nothing to, if it did not really detract from 
her reputation ; but she must go forward in the face 
of discouragements from within and from without. 
Her husband grumbled incessantly at her absorption 
in her profession ; was unsparing in his complaints 
that she grudged him the little time she devoted to 
his comfort and amusement; drove him from her and 
home by her neglect to provide for his entertainment 
as did other wives who cared more for their husbands 
than for literature. It was less easy for her to sup- 
port these imputations patiently, as month after 
month passed and his position upon the “ look-out ” 
seemed destined to become the only permanent one 
he was to obtain, and the task of maintaining him in 
the expensive habits of gentleman at large, strained 
every energy to the utmost. Despite Miss Darcy’s 
ingenuity in relieving her of whatever burden she 
could, by any stretch of imagination and conscience, 
assert ought to devolve upon her, she was forced to 
apply again for book-keeping and copying in order 
to eke out the income derived from her regular con- 
tributions to magazines and newspapers. Hot even 
Miss Darcy knew how often, that winter and spring, 
she sat up all night, writing until the pen seemed to 
cleave to her fingers, and the agony of the swollen 
wrist was tempered within the bounds of endurance 
•by wet bandages, often renewed, as they steamed 
from the heat of the red and burning fiesh. If Rob- 
ert were aware of all this, he never signified his ap- 
preciation of her toils in his behalf. What more 
reasonable than that she, who was inured to labor, 


302 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


should desire to work for one whom he pitied so sin- 
cerely, loved so fondly as he did himself? INTot that 
he was such a brute as to allow her to help him if he 
could help himself. While he had means, he had 
shared thern with her without stint, and joyed that 
he could do this ; had positively and repeatedly pro- 
hibited her working. It galled him to see her obliged 
to do it now — was one of the chief elements in the 
depression that unfitted him for providing for his 
own wants. He let slip no opportunity of la- 
menting his evil case ; chided her that she did not 
testify a more lively sympathy with the suffer- 
ings induced by this reflection. What more would 
she have? Instead of reproaches — silent though they 
were — compassion should be his portion — compassion 
and delicate consideration, such as the just and ten- 
der-hearted award to the misfortunes of him whose 
merits should have purchased success. 

Phemie did pity him, but it was commiseration 
that flourished upon the decay of respect. She never ^ 
said to him that, were she in his place, she would dig 
in the public culverts ; sweep the streets ; hold horses 
at a hotel ; or black boots at a crossing, sooner than 
be dependent for the bread she ate upon the earnings 
of an overtasked woman. But she felt it, and the 
more keenly that he received this support as his right ; 
recognized no obligation to her that it was rendered.' 

At the end of six months the crisis came. It was 
a hot July afternoon, when Mr. Bonney, now the 
head partner of the house in which he had received 
his commercial training, and promoted to the dignity 


PEEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


303 


of a private box, yclept an office, at the further end 
of the long store, was interrupted in the middle of a 
business letter by the intelligence — ‘‘ A lady wants to 
see you, sir ! ” 

It was Phemie. Joe hastened to set a chair for 
her, and. offered her a glass of ice-water and a fan. 
‘‘You look very tired!” he said, kindly. “I am 
afraid you are not strong.” 

“I am neither strong nor well, this summer,” she 
rejoined. “ And just now, I am half wild 1 I never 
thought to come to you on such an errand, Joe — 
but can you lend me two hundred^ dollars ? Stay 1 ” 
He had put his hand upon his check-book. “ I have 
made up my mind to tell you why I need it. I owe 
a quarter’s rent and two or three small bills. ,I never 
had bills until lately, but I knew there would be about 
three hundred dollars coming to me, when my half- 
yearly copyright account was made up at my pub- 
lisher’s. I went to receive this to-day, and was in- 
formed that Mr. Hart had drawn every dollar due me 
a week since — my publisher supposed,, by my direc- 
tions. I have nothing to say against this. A hus- 
band has unlimited control over his wife’s wages. 
But if I do not pay the rent. Miss Darcy must. We 
do this upon alternate quarters. Thus far, the in- 
crease of my family has not entailed heavier expenses 
upon her, and it must not, if I can help it. If you 
can lend me the sum I have named, I will work it 
out for you. I cannot promise to pay it in any other 
way. To-day’s experience has taught me that Lmust 
not anticipate my earnings.” 


304 PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 

Joe wrote out a check, signed ‘‘ J. M. Bonnej,” in 
his round, clerkly hand, and gave it to her. “ Pay 
me when it is perfectly convenient. Ten years hence 
will suit me first-rate. And, I say, Phemie, when 
you would like more, you can have it on the same 
terms. I don’t want a better investment.” 

The lower lip — no longer full and red — quivered 
so violently that she could only bow her head in 
thanks. Joe fidgeted to the window, then to his 
desk ; blew his .nose behind the raised lid, and 
emerged from its shadow in a profuse perspiration, 
especially about the eyes. ‘‘ It is the hottest day I 
ever felt ! ” he said, so very naturally that embarrass- 
ment would have served his turn better. “ It’s a 
tender subject, I know, Phemie, but you must really 
take care of yourself. This sort of thing, now, isn’t 
fair — in point of fact, it is beastly and diabolical, you 
see — and it must not happen again. You must leave 
orders with people who owe you money not to pay it 
except to you, or your written order.” 

‘‘ It would do no good, Joe.” The lip was’ still, 
now, and the 'upper laid a short, hard curve upon it. 
“ I am powerless. All women are, I think.” 

“ So much the more reason why men should be 
honest, and giver them their rights ! ” said illogical 
Joe. “ I never could see any reason why they 
shouldn’t pull . evenly together in harness, instead of 
quarrelling all the time. But this taking your hard- 
earned money, Phemie, is an ugly dodge that shall 
be looked into.” 

Phemie shook her head and arose to go, “ Better 


PHEMIE^S TEMPTATION. 


305 


let it alone ! The sore is too deep and wide for 
your powers of healing, and I am but one of many 
sufferers. I wish I could thank you, brother, but I 
cannot.” 

As she turned the corner of the street on which 
her house stood,, she heard a child’s shrill shrieks of 
terror or pain, and quickening her pace, distinguished, 
as she gained the front gate, her husband’s voice, 
loud in dispute with some one upon the lower floor. 
Applying lier pass-key, she followed the direction of 
the tumult, and entered Miss Darcy’s oflice. That 
lady stood by the desk, enfolding in a close embrace 
baby Kuth, whose arms were tightened about her 
neck in a convulsion of alarm. Robert was between 
them and the door. He had a thin, flat ruler in his 
hand, which he had picked up from the desk, and 
his face was black with rage. 

‘‘ I have borne your prying and interfering and 
tampering with me and mine as long as I mean to I ” 
were the first words to which Phemie listened. It 
is not enough that my wife is your obedient puppet, 
but you would teach my child to defy my authority. 
I will have no more trifling. I give you two min- 
utes to put her down and leave her to me. If it is 
not done in that time, I shall take her. If I tear 
her limb from limb, the responsibility rests with you 
— not me ! ” 

Phemie went straight to the child, took her in her 
arms, and bade her be quiet. The little creature 
obeyed instantly, hiding her eyes and smothering her 
sobs upon her mother’s bosom. When she was quite 


306 


PEMMIE'S TEMPTATION, 


composed, Phemie carried her np-stairs, and con- 
signed her to Sjdvia’s care. Then she returned to 
the study, where the late combatants awaited her 
coming in ominous silence. 

“ Now, I will hear the explanation of this scene I ” 
she said, in a passionless tone, one WQuld hardly have 
expected from an affectionate parent, after what had 
passed. 

It was given at length, and excitedly, by Mr. Hart : 
briefly, and with constrained moderation, by Miss 
Darcy. Bonnie Puthie had been playing in the hall 
when her father opened the front door. He had 
called her to come to him, and she, in perversity, ac- 
cording to his account, in frolic, according to Miss 
Darcy’s, had scampered away from him, and hidden 
under the tall desk. He had pursued her, still com- 
manding her to come to him, and she replied by a 
saucy laugh, peeping at him from behind the leg of 
the desk. When, however, he seized her by the arm 
and dragged her out, she perceived that he was in 
angry earnest, and tried to free herself, screaming to 
‘‘Auntie” to help her. Whereupon he had caught 
up the ruler and commenced a chastisement, which 
Miss Darcy had checked at the third blow, by disen- 
gaging the child from his grasp and sheltering her, 
as we have seen. 

“ If she had deserved correction, and it had been 
administered in a proper manner, I should have re- 
mained a passive looker-on,” said Kuthie’s defender, 
in conclusion. “ But she was in danger of serious 
injury, and I saw that Mr. Hart had forgotten how 


PEEMIE'8 TEMPTATION, 307 

heavy a man’s hand is, and how tender is the flesh, 
how soft are the bones of a little child.” 

Pliemie paled at the simple sentence that set forth 
the peril her baby had escaped, and her husband, see- 
ing this, broke in tauntingly : — 

‘‘ Ay ! believe her, and not me! Believe and trust 
her who has been the bane of our peace ! the false 
friend who has beguiled you from the path of duty 
and respectability ! The time has come when you 
must make your choice between us. Either she leaves 
this house to-night, and forever, or I do 1 You must 
bid one of us a final farewell, here and now! ” 

“ She shall not decide ! I will go,” exclaimed Mss 
Darcy, with generous impetuosity. She can bear 
me witness that I have never put forward any claim 
to her duty, her time, or. her affection, that could con- 
flict .with yours. Phemie, dear ! we will get this 
parting over quickly and bravely ; your first duty is 
to your husband.” 

“ I deny it ! ” Phemie laid her hand upon her 
friend’s arm. “ I promised to be a wife — not a slave. 
I reject this arbitrary test. This is your home — not 
mine. If you desert me, I have no home but the 
street. My husband has not left me the means where- 
with to pay for a night’s lodgings for myself and child. 
The Lord judge between me and him. I have made 
my choice.” 

I am not writing a story with a moral. If I were, 
I should narrate how the wife elected to follow the 
husband’s wanderings, and how her death with her 
babe, of starvation in a garret, resulted in his refor- 


308 


PHEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


mation and conversion to decency and piety. I am de- 
scribing things that have been, and that are. I would 
guard this point carefully. I concede, cheerfully, the 
fact that Phemie was neither a perfect woman nor a 
model wife. I would leave the judgment of my read- 
ers unbiassed. If her errors were great, her sufferings 
were not light. If her final decision was a sin against 
God and man, she did not go unpunished. 

True to his word, Robert Hart shook off the dust 
of his feet upon the steps of the corner cottage that 
very night. It was not until after he had gone that 
Phemie found a scrap of paper upon her desk, ad- 
dressed to her, and bearing these words— 

‘‘You may not know that, if you pemst in your 
refusal to live with me as my wife, I can apply for 
the custody of my child, when she shall reach the 
age of five or six years.” 

Under the shadow of this threat, the mother lived 
and labored for two years longer. Spurred by it, and 
the entreaties of her friends, she, at the end of that 
term, took the preliminary steps toward a divorce 
upon the ground of desertion and failure to provide 
for her support. 

“ I cannot advise you to proceed in this matter yet 
awhile, madam,” was the caution of the wary lawyer 
whom she consulted. “ Should Mr. Hart see fit to 
contest the suit, the fact that after a two years’ ab- 
sence you received him gladly and lived under the 
same roof with him for six months, would operate 
seriously against your success. I should recommend 
a compromise.” 


PEEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


309 


Phemie went back to her child and her work, 
and abode in the shadow of the menace, two years 
longer — years of dread and darkness which had 
their record in the wild glance that, through all her 
after-life, would leap to her eyes at the approach 
of a stealthy footstep ; at the rattling of a casement 
at midnight ; at the receipt of a letter, the superscrip- 
tion of which was lawyerly and unfamiliar ; at many 
a simple incident that would have passed unnoticed 
by the happy and fortunate, but which recalled for 
her the long-drawn agony of that waiting for the day 
of her child’s safety — years of doubting and fearing, 
which stole the nectarine flush from her cheeks, and 
left white marks among her brown hair, like the 
streakings of phantom fingers. 

Three times, during this period, her husband wrote 
to her for money, which was forwarded to him with 
terrified punctuality ; twice she was informed by her 
men of business that they had honored Mr. Hart’s 
drafts upon them to the amount of several hundred 
dollars — each time, just after the publication of a new 
volume from her pen— a circumstance that showed 
how vigilant was his watch upon her, and intensified 
her apprehension of his . sudden descent upon her 
folded lamb. The aforesaid men of business had 
“ not thought it expedient to refuse to pay the money 
to the claimant, lest they should become involved in a 
law-suit,” in which event they were sagacious enough 
to understand that the chances were as a hundred to 
one against the nominal owner of the copyright. 

And then the hour of deliverance arrived. 


310 


PEEMIE'S TEMPTATION. 


But Phemie was greatly mistaken if she imagined 
that she would be happier after she got her divorce,” 
said Olive to Emily, on the latter’s return from a sum- 
mer tour. “ I was saying to Joe, yesterday, tliat she 
was the very picture of a broken-hearted woman. 
She seems to take no interest in anything but her 
child and her everlasting writing. Miss Darcy has 
taken her off into the country for a month, and Al- 
bert is with them. They mean to hire a house near 
the Institute, and all live together. You know Albert 
is a professor there, now. They say lie lectures 
splendidly, and he is invited to deliver lectures all 
over the country. I do hope they will determine to 
move out of town, if it is only a little way. People 
talk so about Phemie’s domestic troubles, and we can- 
not deny that she and her husband could not live to- 
gether — -and if she didn’t drive him from home twice 
— what did ? I ^sked Joe that plain question only 
this morning at breakfast. But I have to be careful 
what I say to him about her. He really flew out at 
me when I said that, and nearly swore at Mr. Hart, 
for a pompous, selflsh, thieving humbug. That isn’t 
a beginning of what he called him. He never could 
abide him, and he is ridiculously partial to Phemie. 
Albert is just as bad. He will have it that she is a 
persecuted saint. But for all that, Em, you and I 
may thank our stars, as I said to Jane, the other day, 
when she was repeating some of the shameful things 
people say of the divorce — we ought to return thanks 
every day we live that we never had any temptation 
to become strong-minded women.” 


PEEMIE'8 TEMPTATION. 


311 


“ If I had, I hope I should have had grace given 
me to resist it,” said proper and pious Emilj. “This 
disposition to abandon the walk of life in which 
Providence intended women to remain, is a great and 
growing evil — a most dangerous snare to the young 
girls of the present day. Phemie’s career and present 
condition are to me a striking proof of the punish- 
ment that, even in this world, waits upon such a 
flagrant violation of natural laws.” 

- So, thanks to Seth and his mouth-piece, my story 
has a moral after all. 



THE END. 



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CH AR YBDIS. 


CHAPTER 1. 

« T is always a thankless office to give advice in 

"4^ f these matters,” said Mrs. Charles Romaine, 
discreetly. “ Your brother and I have de- 
' cided not to attempt to influence you in any 
. way, Constance ; not to bias your judgment 
in favor of, or against Mr. Withers. You, as the 
one most nearly interested in the consequences of 
your acceptance or refusal of his offer, should surely 
be able to make up your mind how to treat it and 
him.” ’ 

“ I should be, as you say,” responded the sister-in- 
law. ‘‘ But I cannot.” 

She was a handsome woman, in the prime of early 
maturity, whose face seldom wore, in the sight of 
others, the perturbed expression that now begloorned 
it. 


14 


314 


CHARTBDI8. 


‘‘ That does not affect the fact of your duty,” an- 
swered Ml'S. Eomaine, with considerable severity. 
“ There are times and circumstances in which vacilla- 
tion is folly — criminal weakness. You have known 
Mr. Withers long enough to form a correct estimate 
of his character. In means and in reputation he is 
all that could be desired, your brother says. Either 
you like him well enough to marry him, or you do 
not. Your situation in life will be bettered by an 
alliance with him, or it will not. These are the 
questions for your consideration. And, excuse me 
for saying, that a woman of your age should not be 
at a loss in weighing these.” 

Again, Constance had nothing ready except a weak 
phrase of reluctant acquiescence. I feel the weight 
of 3mur reasoning, Margaret. You cannot despise me 
more than I do myself for my childish hesitancy. Mr. 
Withers — any sensible and honorable man deserves 
different treatment. If I could see the way clear 
before me, I would walk in it. But, indeed, I^am in 
a sore dilemma.” 

She turned awa^q as her voice shook on the last 
sentence, and affected to be busy with some papers 
upon a stand. 

Mrs. Komaine was just in all her dealings with her 
husband’s sister, and meant, in her way, to be kind. 
Constance respected her for her excellent sense, her 
honesty of purpose and action — but she was the last 
of her friends whom she would have selected, of her 
free will, as the confidante of such joys and sorrows 
as shrink from the touch of hard natures ; refuse to be 


CHAMYBDI8. 


315 


confessed to unsympathizing ears. Her heart and eyes 
were very full now, but she would strangle sooner 
than drop a tear while those cold, light orbs were 
upon her. 

In consideration of the weakness and ridiculous 
sensitiveness of her companion, Mrs. Komaine forbore 
to speak the disdain she felt at the irresolution and 
distress she could not comprehend. “ Is Mr. Withers 
personally disagreeable to you ? ” she demanded, in 
her strong contralto voice. 

“I liked him tolerably well — very well, in fact, 
until he told me what brought him here so regularly,” 
Constance stammered. “ Kow, I am embarrassed in 
his presence — so uneasy that I wish, sometimes, I 
could never see or hear of him again.” 

“ Mere shyness ! ” said Mrs. Komaine. “ Such as 
would be pardonable in a girl of seventeen. In a 
woman of seven-and-twenty, it is absurd. Mr. With- 
ers is highly esteemed by all who know him. Your 
disrelish of his society is caprice, unless ” — the mar- 
ble-gray eyes more searching — “unless you have a 
prior attachment ? 

Constance smiled drearily. “ I have never been 
in love in my life, that I know of.” 

“ You are none the worse for having escaped an 
infatuation that has wrecked more women for time 
and for eternity than all other delusions combined. A 
rational marriage — founded upon mutual esteem and 
the belief that the social and moral condition of the 
parties to the contract would be promoted thereby, is 
the only safe union. The young — inexperienced and 


316 


CEARYBDIS. 


headstrong — repudiate this principle. The mature 
in age know it tp be true. But, as I have said, it is 
not my intention to direct your judgment. This is a 
momentous era in your life. I can only hope and 
pray that you may be guided aright in your decision.” 

Left to herself to digest this morsel of pious en- 
couragement, Constance drew a low seat to the hearth- 
register ; clasped her hands upon her knees, and tried, 
for the hundredth time that day, to weigh the facts 
of her position, fairly and impartially. 

She had been an orphan for eight years, and a 
resident in the house of her eldest brother. Her 
senior by more than a dozen years, and in the excit- 
ing swing of successful mercantile life, he had little 
leisure for the study of his sister’s tastes and traits, 
when she first became his ward, and conceived the 
task to be an unnecessary one, now that she was a 
fixture in his family, and appeared to get on smoothly 
with his wife. In truth, it never occurred to him to 
lay a disturbing finger upon the tiniest wheel of the 
domestic machinery. His respect for his spouse’s ex- 
ecutive and administrative abilities was exceeded only 
by her confidence in her own powers. She was never 
irascible, but he knew that she would have borne 
down calmly and energetically any attempt at inter- 
ference in her operations as minister of the interior — 
the ruler of the establishment he, by a much-abused 
figure of speech, called his home. A snug and ele- 
gant abode she made of it; and beholding Constance 
well-dressed and w^ell-fed, habitually cheerful, and 
never rebellious, he may be forgiven for not spending 


CHABTBDIS. 


317 


a th ought upon her for hours together, and when he 
did remember her, for dwelling the rather upon his 
disinterested kindness to a helpless dependent than 
speculating upon her possible ^nd unappeased spirit- 
ual appetites. 

For these, and for other whimsies, Mrs. Komaine 
had little thought and no charity. Life, with her, 
was a fabric made up of duties, various and many, 
but all double-twisted into hempen strength, and 
woven too closely for a shine of fancy or romance to 
strike through.^ She had coincided readily in her 
husband’s plan to take charge of his young sister 
when her parents died. ‘‘ Pier brother’s house is the 
fittest asylum for her,” she had said. “ I shall do my 
best to render her comfortable and contented.” 

She kept her word. Constance’s wardrobe was 
ample and handsome ; her room elegantly furnished, 
and she entered society under the chaperonage of her 
sister-in-law. The servants were trained to respect 
her ; the children to regard her as their elder sister. 
What more could a penniless orphan require ? Mrs. 
Romaine was not afraid to ask the question of her 
conscience and of Heaven. Her “best” was no 
empty profession. It was lucky for her self-compla- 
cency that she never suspected what years of barren- 
ness and longing these eight were to \iev protegee. 

Constance was not a genius — therefore she never 
breathed even to herself — “I feel like a seed in the 
cold earth, quickening at heart, and longing for the 
air..” Her temperament was not melancholic, nor 
did her taste run after poetry and martyrdom. She 


318 


CEABTBDm. 


was simply a young, pretty, and moderately well- 
educated woman, too sensible not to perceive that 
her temporal needs were conscientiously supplied, and 
too atfectionate to be satisfied with the meagre allow- 
ance of nourishment dealt out for her heart and sym- 
pathies. While the memory of her father’s proud 
affection and her mother’s caresses were fresh upon 
her, she had long and frequent spells of lonely weep- 
ing ; was wont to resign herself in the seclusion of 
her chamber to passionate lamentations over her or- 
phanage and isolation of spirit. Routine was Mrs. 
Romaine’s watchword, and in bodily exercise Con- 
stance conformed to her quiet despotism ; visited, 
studied, worked and took recreation by rule. The 
system wrought upon her beneficiallj^ so far as her 
physique was concerned. She grew, from a slender, 
pale girl, into ripe and healthy womanhood ; was 
more comely at twenty-seven than at twenty-one. 

But all this time she was an hungered. She would 
cheerfully have refunded to her brother two-thirds of 
her liberal allowance of pocket-money, if he had 
granted to her with its quarterly payment, a sentence 
of fraternal fondness, a token, verbal or looked, that 
he remembered whose child she was, and that the 
same mother-love had guarded their infancy. Her 
sister-in-law would have been welcome to 'withhold 
many of her gifts of wearing-apparel and jewelry, 
had she bethought herself, now and then, how grate- 
fully kisses fall upon young lips, and that youthful 
heads are often sadly weary for the lack of a friendly 
shoulder, or a loving bosom on which to rest. She 


CHARTBDIS. 319 

did not accuse her relatives of wilful unkindness be- 
cause these were withheld. They interchanged no 
such unremunerative demonstrations among them- 
selves. Husband and wife were courteous in their 
demeanor, the one to the other ; their children were 
demure models of filial duty at home and industry at 
school ; the training in both places being severe 
enough to quench what feeble glimmer of individual- 
ity may have been born with the offspring of the 
methodical and practical parents. Constance found 
them extremely uninteresting, notwithstanding the 
natural love for children which led her to court their 
companionship during the earlier weeks of her do- 
mestication in their house. It was next to a miracle 
that she did not stiffen in this atmosphere into a 
buckram image of feminine propriety — a prodigy of 
starch and virtue, such as would have brought calm 
delight to the well-regulated mind of her exemplar, 
and effectually chased all thoughts of matrimony from 
those of masculine beholders. Had her discontent 
with her allotted sphere been less active, the result 
would have been certain and deplorable. She was, * 
instead, popular among her acquaintances of both 
sexes, and had many friends, if few lovers. This 
latter deficiency had given her no concern until with- 
in two years. At twenty-five, she opened her eyes in 
wide amaze upon the thinning ranks of her virgin 
associates, and began seriously to ponder the causes 
that had left her unsought, save by two very silly and 
utterly ineligible swains, whose overtures were, in 
her esteem, presumption that was only too ridiculous 


( 


320 


CHARTBDm 


to be insulting. Her quick wit and knowledge of 
the world helped her to a solution of the problem. 
‘‘ I am poor and dependent upon mj brother’s chari- 
ty,” she concluded, with a new and stifling uprising 
of dissatisfaction with her condition. ‘‘ Men rarely 
fall in love with such — more rarely woo them.” She 
never spoke the thought aloud, but it grew and 
strengthened until it received a startling blow from 
Mr. Withers’ proposal of marriage. 

He was a wealthy banker from a neighboring city, 
whom business relations with Mr. Homaine drew to 
his house and into his sister’s company. His court- 
ship was all Mrs. Homaine could desire. His visits 
were not too frequent, and were paid at stated inter- 
vals, as befltted his habits of order and punctuality. 
His manner to the lady honored by his preference 
was replete with stately respect, that was the anti- 
podes of servile devotion, while his partiality for her 
society and admiration for her person were unmis- 
takable. He paid his addresses through Mr. Homaine 
as his fair one’s guardian, offering voluntarily to give 
her whatever time for deliberation upon the proposal 
she might desire. 

“You had better think it over. for a week,” ad- 
vised her brother, when he had laid the case duly 
before Constance. “ It is too serious a matter to be 
settled out of hand.” 

After that, neither he nor his wife obtruded their 
counsel upon her until the afternoon of the seventh 
day. Then Mrs. Homaine, going to her sister’s cham- 
ber to communicate the substance of a telegram just 


CHARYBDI8. 


321 


received by her husband, to the effect that Mr. 
"Withers would call that evening at eight o’clock, was 
moved to grave remonstrance by the discovery that 
she wdiom he came to woo had no answer prepared 
for him. Constance was no nearer ready after the 
conversation recorded some pages back. 

“ I cannot afford to be romantic,” she had reminded 
herself several times. “ And who knows but this ir- 
rational repugnance may pass away when I have 
once made up my mind to accept him ? This may 
be — in all likelihood it is my last chance of achieving 
an independent position. It has been a long time 
coming, and my charms will be on the wane soon. 
True, a marriage with Elnathan Withers i^ not the 
destiny of. which I liave dreamed, but then dreams 
are but foolish vagaries after all. Life is real and 
earnest.” 

She had kept her heart alive upon nothing else for 
eight years — dreams of home, and love, and apprecia- 
tion ; of liberty to speak out what she had never 
lisped since her mother died, and of being once again, 
joyously and without reserve, herself. There are no 
harder spectres to lay than these same dreams. Me- 
mories, however dear and sacred, are more easily for- 
gotten or dismissed, or smothered by the growth of 
later "ones. If she bade them farewell now, it was 
for a lifetime. 

‘‘ A lifetime!” she repeated, shivering with a sick 
chill, and crouching lower over the register. ‘‘ May- 
be . ten, maybe twenty, who knows but forty years ! 
It is a tedious slumber of one’s heart, and a loveless 
14 =<‘ 


822 


CHARTED IS. 


marriage is a loathsome sepulchre for one’s better and 
real self. A lifetime ! and I can have but one ! But 
one! If this step should be ruin and misery, there 
can be no redemption this side of the grave. Ills 
grave, perhaps — just as probably mine ! ” 

To-night, this very hour, she must resist the glit- 
tering temptation to forswear her womanhood, or 
murder, with her own hand, the dear visions that 
had come to be more to her than reality. The win- 
ter twilight had fallen early. It was the season best 
loved by her dream visitors. She had not lied in 
declaring to her inquisitor that she had never been in 
love, but she confessed that she had equivocated as 
the shadowy figure of her ideal lover stood beside 
her in the friendly gloom. Mrs. Bomaine would 
have questioned her sanity had she guessed how the 
girl had sobbed her griefs into quiet upon his bosom, 
how talked lowly but audibly to him of her love and 
the comfort his presence brought. She had never 
looked into his face, but she should know him in an 
instant should they two ever meet in the fiesh, as 
they did now daily in spirit. Somewhere in the dim 
and blessed future he was waiting for her, and she 
had borrowed patience from the hope. She was to 
be his wife — the mother of children as unlike the 
prodigies of repression that lined two sides of her 
brother’s table as cherubs to puppets. She welcomed 
them to her arms in these twilight trances. They 
lolled upon her knees, slept in her embrace, strained 
eager arms about her neck, dappled her cheek with 
their kisses. Unsubstantial possessions these, but 


CHARYBDIS. 


323 


cherished as types of good things to come. Other 
women had such riches — women with faces less fair, 
and affections less ardent than hers. If the Great 
Father was good and merciful, and the Ke warder of 
them who put their trust in Him, a true and loving 
parent, who rejoiced in the happiness of His crea- 
tures — all these must be hers at last. If she resigned 
them now, it was a final separation. 

“ And I can have but one lifetime,” she moaned 
again. Thwarted and fruitless thus far, but still all 
she had. 

The one idea recurred to her with the persistency 
of a presentiment. The life which God had given, 
the heart He had endowed ! 

“ If some one, stronger and wiser than I, would only 
take the responsibility of decision from my soul, would 
hedge me in on the right and left, I would go forward. 
As it is, I dare not ! I dare not ! ” She sobbed and 
wrung her hands in the agonies of irresolution. 

“You told Constance about the telegram?” It 
was her brother speaking in the library below. The 
sound arose plainly through the open register. 

“ I did. But I regret to say that she is not yet in 
the frame of mind we could wish her to carry to the 
interview with Mr. Withers,” said Mrs. Eomaine. 
She always expressed herself with deliberate pre- 
cision even in conjugal tetes-d-tete, 

“No?” Constance heard the rustle of the evening 
paper as Charles laid it down, and the creak of his 
chair as he confronted his wife. “What is the 
matter?” 


324 


CHARYBDIS. 


‘‘ Some overstrained ideas of the beauty and pro- 
priety of reciprocal devotion, I believe. She looks 
for a hero in a husband, and Mr. Withers has nothing 
heroic in his appearance or composition.” 

“He is worth more than half a million, all accu- 
mulated by his own talents and industry,” returned 
Mr. Komaine. Constance cannot be such an egre- 
gious simpleton as not to perceive the manifest ad- 
vantages of this connection to her. I have never 
complained of the burden of her maintenance, but I 
have often wondered her own sense of justice and 
expediency did not urge her to put forth some effort 
at self-support. There is but one way in which she 
can do this. She is not sufficiently thorough in any 
branch of literature or any accomplishment to become 
a successful teacher. In the event of my death or 
failure in business she would be driven to the humi- 
liating resource of taking in sewing for a livelihood, 
or to seek the more degrading position of a sales- 
woman in a store. Her future has been a source of 
much and anxious thought with me. This marriage 
would, I hoped, quiet my apprehensions by settling 
her handsomely in life. If she refuse Withers, I shall 
be both angry and disappointed. She is old enough 
to leave off school-girl sentimentality.” 

The listener put out her foot and shut the register 
noiselessly. She had had a surfeit of disagreeable 
truth for that time. 

Yet it was . truth, every word of it. She was a 
mean-spirited hanger-on to her brother. She was in- 
capable of earning a livelihood by other means than 


CHARTED IS. 


325 


those Jie had named. Her mode of life from her 
infancy had unfitted her for toil and privation, such 
as must he hers were her plain-spoken benefactor to 
die to-morrow. Hor had she the moral nerve to defy 
public opinion, to debar herself from accustomed as- 
sociations and pleasures by entering the ranks of 
paid laborers. Hesitation was at an end. The wish 
that had been almost a prayer in solemn sincerity 
was answered fearfully soon, and she would offer no 
appeal. Her destiny was taken out of her hands. 
There was no more responsibility, no more struggling. 
Hedges to the right and to the left bristled with thorns, 
sharp and thick as porcupine quills. But one path lay 
open to her feet — a short and straight course that 
conducted her to Elnathan Withers’ arms. 




CHAPTER II. 

ALE-PAST five ! I wrote to Harriet to have 
dinner ready at six. We shall be just in 
time,” said Mr. Withers, as he took his seat 
in the carriage that was to convey him with 
his bride from the depot to their home. 
Constance was jaded by her fortnfght’s travel, and 
dispirited almost beyond her power of concealment, 
but she had learned already that her lord disliked to 
have whatever observation he was pleased to make 
go unanswered. “ She is your housekeeper, I sup- 
pose ? ” she replied, languidly. 

“ Ho — that is — she does not occupy the position of 
a salaried inferior in my establishment. I must sure- 
ly have spoken to you of my cousin, Harriet Field ? ” 
“ Hot that I recollect. I am very sure that I never 
heard tlie name until now.” 

“ Her mother,” continued Mr. Withers, in a pom- 
pous narrative-tone, ‘‘ was my father’s sister. Left a 
widow, ten years prior to her decease, she accepted 
my invitation to ta)^ charge of my house. She 




CHAUTBDm 


327 


brought with her her only child, the Harriet of whom 
I speak, and the two remained with me until our 
family group was broken in upon by death. Harriet 
would then have sought a situation as governess, but 
for my objections. She is a woman of thirty-five, or 
thereabouts, and I prevailed over her scruples touch- 
ing the propriety of her continued residence under 
my roof, by representing that her mature age, even 
more than our relationship, placed her beyond the 
reach of scandal. For eighteen months she has 
superintended my domestic afiairs to my entire satis- 
faction. That I have not alluded directly to her be- 
fore during our acquaintanceship, is only to be ac- 
counted for by the circumstance that we have had so 
many other and more engrossing topics of conversa- 
tion.” 

He raised her gloved hand to his lips in stiff gal- 
lantry, and Constance smiled, constrainedly, in reply. 

His endearments, albeit he was less profuse of 
them than a younger and more ardent bridegroom 
would have been, were yet frequent enough to keep 
his wife in unfailing remembrance of his claims and 
her duties. He w^as, apparently, content with her 
passive submission to these, seemed to see in her forced 
complaisance evidence of her pleasure in their recep- 
tion. He was too sedate, as well as too gentlemanly to 
be openly conceited, but his appreciation of his own 
importance in society and in business circles was too 
profound to admit a doubt of the supreme bliss of the 
woman he had selected to share his elevated position. 
Without being puppyish, he was pragmatical ; with- 


328 


CHABTBDIS. 


out being ill-tempered, be was tenacious, in the ex- 
treme, of his dignity and the respect he considered due 
to this. Had her mood been lighter, Constance would 
have been tempted to smile at the allusion to his 
cousin’s age, his own exceeding it by three years, as 
she had accidentally learned through the indiscretion , 
of a common acquaintance. He was sensitive upon 
this point, she had likewise been informed. She had 
yet to discover upon how many others. 

Most young wives would not have relished the 
idea of finding this invaluable relative installed as 
prime manager in her new abode. It mattered little 
to her, Constance said, still languidly, who ruled and 
who obeyed. She had given up so much within 
three months past, that resignation had become a 
habit ; sacrifice was no longer an effort. Having 
nothing to hope for, she could sustain no further loss. 
How long this nightmare of apathy would continue 
was a question that did not present itself in her gray 
musings. Having once conquered Nature, and held 
Inclination under the heel of Hesolve, until life 
seemed extinct, she anticipated no resurrection. She 
did not know that no single battle, however long 
and bloody, constitutes a campaign ; that length of 
days and many sorrows are needed to rob youth of 
elasticity ; that the guest who lingers longest in the 
human heart, clinging to the shattered shelter from 
which all other joys have flown, is Hope. It is 
doubtful if she thought with .any distinctness at this 
period. She was certain!^ less actively miserable 
than in that which immediately preceded her en- 


GHARTBBIS. 


329 


gagement. That was amputation, this reactionary 
weariness. How she would fare, by and by, when 
the wound had become a scar, she thought of least 
of all. 

It was a handsome carriage in which she rode at the 
master’s right hand. A pair of fine horses pranced 
before it, and a liveried coachman sat on the box. 
She had, sometimes, envied other women the posses- 
sion of like state. She ought to derive delight from 
these outward symbols of her elevation in the world. 

It was an imposing mansion, too, before which the 
equipage presently paused, and a tall footman open- 
ed the front door, and ran briskly down to the side- 
walk to assist the travellers in alighting. Hone of 
her associates, married or single, lived in equal style, 
she refiected with a stir of exultation, as she stepped 
out, between her husband and his lackey. 

Mr. Withers’ address dampened the rising glow. 

“ This is our home, my dear. You will find no . 
cause of discontent with it, I hope,” he said, in be- 
nign patronage, handing her up the noble fiight of 
stone steps. 

‘‘ Thank you,” she replied coldly. It is a part 
of the price for which I sold myself,” she was med- 
itating. ‘‘ I must hot quarrel with my bargain.” 

Miss Field met them in the hall — a wasp-like fig- 
ure, surmounted by a small head. Her neck w^as 
bare and crane-like; her face very oval, her skin 
opaque and chalky ; her hair black and shining ; the 
forelock in long ringlets, 'her eyes jet beads, that 
rolled and twinkled incessantly. 


330 


CHARTBDIS. 


My dear cousin ! ” slie cried, effusively, embrac- 
ing her patron’s hand, and winking back an officious 
tear. ‘‘ It is like sunshine to have you home again. 
IIow are you ? ” 

“Well — thank you, Harriet! or, I should say, 
in tolerable health,” returned Mr. Withers, magnifi- 
cently condescending. “ Allow me to introduce my 
wife, Mrs. Withers 1 ” 

Miss Field swept a flourishing courtesy. Con- 
stance, as the truer lady of the two, offered her hand. 
It was grasped very slightly, and instantly relin- 
quished. 

“ Charmed to have the honor — I am sure ! ” mur- 
mured Miss Field. “I trust I see Mrs. Withers 
quite well ? But you, cousin — did I understand you 
to intimate that you were indisposed,” with strained 
solicitude. 

“ A trifling attack of indigestion, not worth men- 
tioning to any ears excepting yours, my good nurse.” 

Miss Field smiled sweetly at this concession to 
her anxiety, and Constance, who now heard of the 
“ indisposition ” for the flrst time, looked from one 
to the other in surprised silence. 

“ Perhaps Mrs. Withers would like to go directly 
to her apartments?” pursued Harriet, primly, with 
another courtesy. 

“By all means,” Mr. Withers replied for her. 
“ As it is, I fear your dinner will have to wait for 
her, if, as I presume is the case, you are punctual as 
is your custom.” 

“ Could I fail in promptitude upon this day of all 


CHARYBDI8. 331 * 

others?”, queried Harriet, sentimentally arch, and 
preceded the bride upstairs. 

“ Perhaps it would be better for me not to change 
my dress, if I am likely to infringe upon the dinner 
hour,” said Constance, at her chamber door. 

‘‘ Oh, I do not think my cousin would approve of 
that!^'^ exclaimed her emphatic conductress. Then 
she amended her inadvertence. ‘‘ Of course, Mrs. 
"Withers is the proper judge of her own actions, and 
I would not appear to dictate, but my cousin is 
punctilious on some points, and the matter of ladies’ 
attire is one of these. I have known him so long 
that I am conversant with all his amiable peculiari- 
ties. I am confident he would be pleased to see 
Mrs. Withers assume the head of her table in full 
dinner toilet. But, as I remarked, I do not presume 
to dictate, to advise, or even suggest. Mrs. Withers 
is undisputed empress here.” 

Having run trippingly through this speech, she in- 
flicted a third remarkable courtesy upon the novice, 
and vanished. 

“She is underbred, and a meddler,” decided Con- 
stance, while she made a rapid toilet. “ I hate to be 
addressed in the third person. I thought it a form 
of speech confined, in this country, to kitchen-maids 
and haberdasher’s clerics.” 

Before she could invest herself in the dinner-dress 
that lay uppermost in her trunk, the bell rang to 
summon her to the evening meal, and three minutes 
thereafter, the footman knocked at her door with the 
message that Mr. Withers had sent for her. 


’332 


CHARTBDI8. 


“ I shall be down directly. Tell him not to wait 
for me,” she said, hurriedly. 

She did not expect to be taken at her word, but 
upon her descent to the dining-room, she beheld 
her husband seated at the foot of the board, and 
Miss Field at the head. The latter laid down the 
soup-ladle, and jumped up, fussily. 

‘‘ Here she is, now ! I resign my chair to one who 
will fill it more worthily than I have ever done.” 

Keep your place, Harriet ! ” ordered her kins- 
man. “Mrs. Withers will waive her claims on this 
occasion, since she is late,” designating a chair at 
his left as that intended for Constance’s occupancy. 
“We would have waited for you, Constance, had I 
been less faint and weary. My physician has repeat- 
edly warned me that protracted abstinence is detri- 
mental to my digestion. Harriet, here, understands 
my constitution so well that I am seldom, when at 
home, a sufferer from the twinges of dyspepsia, that 
have affiicted me in my absence.” 

“ Those horrible public tables,” cried Harriet. 
“ I assure you, I never sat down to a meal when you 
were away without sighing over your evil plight in 
being subjected to the abominable cookery and in- 
tolerable hours of hotels.” 

“ I did not know you were a dyspeptic,” observed 
Constance. “ You seemed to enjoy good health dur- 
ing our tour.” 

“ That was because Mrs. Withers does not yet 
comprehend your marvellous patience— the courage 
with which you bear pain, and the unselfishness that 


CEARYBDIS. 


333 


leads you to conceal its ravages from the eyes of 
others,” explained Miss Field, ogling the interesting 
sufferer, who was discussing a plate of excellent 
white soup with a solemnly conscious air. “ Now, 
that you are safe under your own roof, we will 
soon undo the mischief that has been done. You 
do not know what a prize you have won, Mrs. 
Withers, until you have seen him in the retiracy of 
home. His virtues are such as flourish in per- 
fection in the shadow# of his own vine and fig- 
tree ; shed their sweetest perfume upon the domestic 
hearth.” 

As you perceive, my good cousin’s partiality for 
me tempts her to become poetically extravagant in 
her expressions,” Mr. Withers said to his wife, in 
pretended apology, looking well pleased, neverthe- 
less. 

“ I could not have a more patient auditor than 
Mrs. Withers, I am sure,” rejoined Harriet. ‘^Mrs. 
Withers will never take exception to my honest en- 
thusiasm.” 

Constance answered by her stereotyped languid 
smile, wondering inly at the complacency with which 
a man of her spouse’s years and shrewdness heark- 
ened to the bold flattery of his parasite. 

The exhibition ceased to astonish her before she 
had lived in the same house with the cousins for a 
month. Within the same period, she was gradually 
reduced to the position of a cipher in the manage- 
ment of the establishment. After that first day, 
Miss Field had not offered to abdicate the seat at the 


334 : 


CHARYBDIS. 


head of the table, except at the only dinner-party 
they had given. Then, the handsome Mrs. Withers 
appeared in pearl-colored satin and diamonds as the 
mistress of ceremonies to a dozen substantial citizens 
and their expensively attired wives, endured the two 
hours spent at table, and the two duller ones in the 
great parlors, where the small company seemed lost, 
and everybody talked as if afraid of his own voice. 
She was no gayer than the rest by the time the enter- 
tainment was half over. The* atmosphere of respecta- 
ble stupidity was infectious, and this pervaded every 
nook of her new home. In her brother’s house she 
had had young visitors, and there was, at the dullest, 
the hope of release to console her. How she was 
“ settled in life,” could sit down with idle hands, and 
spend her days in contemplation of her grandeur. 
She had married well. Nobody looked askance at 
her when old maids were the subjects of pity or ridi- 
cule. The most censorious could not couple her 
name with the dread word — dependence. She had 
no household cares. Mr. Withers and Miss Field re- 
lieved her of all such. 

And the mistress of the mansion was left to her 
own devices ? By no means. If her husband was 
fastidious, he was also tyrannical. He dictated not 
only what dress his wife should appear in daily, but 
also what laces and ornaments she should sport ; at 
what hours she should take the air ; whom she must 
visit and whom invite ; what songs she should sing 
to him when he asked for music in the evening, and 
when the day should close — the day so wearisome in 


CHABYBDm 


335 


its similitude to all that had preceded and those 
which should follow it. 

“ My cousin is a man with aspirations above the 
frivolities of fashionable life, and excitement is inju- 
rious to his health,” Miss Field notified the bride, 
the day after her home-bringing. ‘‘ I fear Mrs. Wi- 
thers will tire of the even tenor of our way ? ” 

“ I like quiet,” Constance replied. 

But she did not mean stagnation. She was mar- 
ried in April, and on the first of July the trio remov- 
ed to Mr. Withers’ country-seat. Here Constance 
was to find that the dead level of her existence had 
yet a lower plain of dulness. There was not a neigh- 
bor within four miles, hardly a farm-house in sight. 

“We recruit here after the dissipation of the win- 
ter,^ Miss Field said, enjoyingly. “ The solitude, is 
enrapturing. One can sleep all day long, if she 
likes.” 

This proved to be her favorite method of recupera- 
ting her exhausted energies. Mr. Withers, too, liked 
a post-prandial siesta, “ prescribed by his physician 
as eminently conducive to digestion.” Constance was 
not more lonely when they slept than when they were 
awake. The horrible sterility of her life was not to 
be ameliorated by their society. If commonplaceness 
be a crime, Mr. Withers and his cousin were offenders 
of an aggravated type. Harriet’s affectations and 
Elnathan’s platitudes were to the tortured senses of 
the third person of the party less endurable than the 
cicada’s shrill monotone through the hot summer day, 
and the katydid’s endless refrain at night. Her 


336 


CHARYBDIS. 


chains, which had hitherto paralyzed her by their 
weight, began to gall and fret into her spirit. She 
grew unequal , in temper, nervous, and restless under 
the restrictions imposed by her spouse. An insane 
impulse beset her to defy his authority, and set at 
naught his counsels ; to rush into some outrageous 
freak that should shock him out of his propriety, and 
provoke the prudish toad-eater to natural speech and 
action. 

This madness was never stronger than on one Au- 
gust afternoon when she escaped from the house, leav- 
ing the cousins to the enjoyment of their recuperative 
naps in their respective chambers, and took her way 
to the mountain back of the villa. She had never 
explored it, tempting as was the shade of the hem- 
locks and pines that grew up to the summit, and the 
walls of gray rock revealed through the rifts of the 
foliage. A current of fragrance, the odor of the re- 
sinous woods, flowed down to greet her ere she reach- 
ed the outskirts of the forest, and the lulling murmur 
of the wind in the evergreen boughs was like the 
sound of many and wooing waters. The tender 
green tassels of the larches tapped her head as she 
bowed beneath their low branches, and the wide 
hemlocks were spread in benediction above her. She 
was alone with nature — free for one short hour to 
think her own thoughts and act out her desires. She 
laughed as a bushy cedar knocked off her hat at the 
instant that she tore her dress upon a bramble. 

“ They are leagued with my legal proprietor in the 
commendable business of repressing the lawless vaga- 


CHAMTBDI8. 


337 


ries of those who cannot get their fill of natural beau- 
ties through the windows of a state-chariot. But I 
shall have my frolic all the same.” 

Another and a higher peak tempted her when she 
had sat for a while upon a boulder crowning the’ first, 
revelling in the view of valley and hill, including the 
basin in which nestled the house, and the plain open- 
ing eastward' toward the sea and civilization. The 
second height was precipitous, in some places almost 
perpendicular. From treading fearlessly and rapidly 
from crag to crag, she came to pulling herself up 
gravelly banks by catching at the stout underbrush, 
and steadying herself among rolling stones by tufts of 
wiry grass. But she kept on, and forgot aching feet, 
scant breath, and blistered hands when she stood 
finally upon a broad plateau hundreds of feet above 
the house that had dwindled into a toy cottage and 
the environing plantations of young trees like patches 
in a herbrgarden. 

“ This is life ! ” she cried out in a sudden transport, 
and sat her down upon a cushion of gray moss in 
the shadow of a cedar, to gaze, and wonder, and re- 
joice. 

She made a discovery presently. A spring, clear and 
impetuous, burst from between two overhanging rocks, 
and chose the shortest route to the valley, babbling 
with all its little might. It was joined, before it had 
gone many feet, by other rivulets, and from a point 
midway in the descent, where the cliflTs were steepest, 
came up the shout of a waterfall. This, and the tire- 
less murmur of the evergreens, made up the music of 
15 


338 


CHARTED IS. 


this upper sanctuarj, until Constance’s voice arose from 
the rocky table, sweet, full, exultant. 

“ The wild streams leap with headlong sweep 
In their curbless course o’er the mountain steep ; 

All fresh and strong they foam along, 

Waking the rocks with their cataract song. 

My eye bears a glance like the beam on a lance 
As I watch the waters dash and dance. 

I burn with glee, for I love to see 
The path of anything that’s free. 

I love — I love — oh, I love the free I 
I love — I love — I love the free I 

“ The skylark springs with dew on his wings, 

- And up in the arch of heaven he sings — 

‘ Tra-la-tra-la I ’ Oh, sweeter far 

Than the notes that come through a golden bar. 

The thrall and the state of the palace gate 
Are what my spirit has learned to hate ” — 

The strain ceased abruptly, and, in place of the’ rapt 
musician, borne above the power of earthly woes 
to crush, and petty vexations to sting, a woman 
grovelled upon the mossy cushion, weeping hot, fast 
tears, and beating against the rough rock with a child’s 
folly of desperation the white hand that wore the 
badge of her servitude. 

What was she but a caged bird, bidden to preen its 
feathers and warble the notes its master dictated, be- 
tween golden bars ? A slave to whom state and thrall 
meant one and the same abhorrent thing ? What had 
she to do, henceforward, with dreams of beauty and 
freedom — she, who had signed away her liberty of 


CHARYBDIS. 


339 


spirit and person, voluntarily accepting in their 
stead the most foul captivity a pure and upright wo- 
man can know ? She felt herself to beuitterly vile — 
plague-spotted in soul and flesh in the lonely sublimity 
of this mountain-temple — a leper, condemned and in- 
curable, constrained to cry out at the approach of 
every passer-by, “ Unclean ! unclean ! ” It would have 
been better for her to beg her bread upon the door- 
steps of the wealthy, and failing that, to die by the 
wayside, with starvation and cold, than to live the life 
of nominal respectability and abundance, of real de- 
gradation and poverty which were now hers. 

The tears were dried, but she still sat on the gray 
carpet, clutching angrily at it and the wild-flowers 
peeping through the crevices of the rock, rending them 
as passion had torn her ; her bosom heaving with the 
unspent waves of excitement and a mutinous pout 
upon her lips, when a crackling among the brushwood 
thrilled her with an uncomfortable sensation of alarm. 

Before she could regain her feet or concert her 
scheme of defence or flight, the nearest cedar boughs 
were pushed aside, and a man stepped into the area 
fenced in by the hardy mountain evergreens. With 
subsiding fears as her quick eye inventoried the va- 
rious particulars of his neat travelling-suit, gentle- 
manly bearing, pleasant countenance, and deferential 
aspect toward herself, Constance arose, visibly embar- 
rassed, but dignifled, and awaited his pleasure. The 
stranger betrayed neither surprise nor confusion. 
Walking directly up to her, he removed his hat, bow- 
ing low, with a bright, cordial smile. 


340 


GEABTBDI8. 


“Unless I am greatly mistaken, I have the pleasure 
of seeing my brother’s wife. And you are more fa- 
miliar with niy name and my handwriting than with 
my face. I am Edward Withers I ” 




CHAPTEK ni. 

DON’T understand how you happened to 
r cross that rough mountain in your route 
from the depot,” said the elder brother, 
' when the family assembled that evening 
for what Miss Field always denominated a 
sociable, old-fashioned tea,” which, in the country, 
was served at the town dinner hour. Could you 
obtain no conveyance at the station ?” 

“ None — unless I chose to wait several hours. Sur- 
ftiising, at once, that my letter had not arrived in 
season to notify you of my coming, I left my baggage 
in charge of the station-master, and set out on foot. 
I pleased myself when I was here, two years ago, with 
surveying an air-line between your house and the 
nearest point of the railroad. If one does not mind 
some pretty steep hills, he can save at least two miles 
by availing himself of my topographical skill. It was 
a pleasant variety to me, after six hours in a narrov 
car-seat, to stretch my limbs over the rocky pass and 
breathe the fresh air of the wildwoods instead ol 
smoke and cinders.” 


342 


CEARYBDI8. 


“ The mystery to me is how and where you met 
Mrs. Withers ! ” chirped vivacious Harriet. ‘‘ Do 
explain! I was never so astonished in my life as 
when I saw you two walking up the avenue, talking 
together like old friends.” 

“As we are,” smiled Edward at his sister-in-law. 
“ She was sitting at the foot of a cedar near my pro- 
jected road, enjoying the prospect beneath her. I 
recognized her from her resemblance to the photo- 
graph you sent me while I was abroad, Elnathan; 
walked up to her, like the impertinent fellow some 
people think I am ; introduced myself, and offered to 
escort her home.” 

“You should have taken a servant with you, Con- 
stance,” said her husband, magisterially. “ It is not 
safe or proper for a lady to ramble alone in this thinly- 
settled neighborhood.” 

“ There are charcoal-burners in the mountains ! ” 
Miss Harriet interjected, shudderingly. “ The most 
ferocious-looking creatures, with long beards and 
black faces. I saw one once when we were driving 
out. And there used to be bears, when the country 
was first settled” — 

“ And wolves, and catamounts, and red Indians, 
with no beards at all 1 ” finished the younger Withers, 
warningly. “Mrs. Withers, let me advise you to 
take me along whenever you stir beyond the garden 
fence. I saw a Rocky Mountain savage once, and 
last year was one of a party that went out on a bear- 
hunt, in Norway. We saw nothing of Bruin, it is 
ti’ue, but my instructions how to act in case he crossed 


CHABTBDIS. 343 

my path were so minute, that I am confident I should 
prove a valiant protector in time of need.” 

The invitation thus playfully given was renewed in 
earnest on the following day. The brother and sister- 
in-law were excellent friends from the moment of their 
meeting. The travelled member of the eminent bank- 
ing-firm of ‘‘ Withers Brothers ” was about thirty years 
of age, and attractive in person, rather from a certain 
grace and elegance of bearing, and a frank, intelli- 
gent expression, than from regularity of feature. He 
had read much, and seen many lands, and knew how 
to use the knowledge thus gained for the entertain 
ment of his companions. A passionate lover of music, 
he was not slow in discovering Constance’s kindred 
tastes. His coming gave a difierent complexion to 
life in the secluded country-house. There were horse- 
back rides before breakfast, and diligent practice with 
voice and instruments — piano, fiute, and violin, be- 
sides a couple of hours’ reading in the forenoon ; then 
came the after-dinner walk, seldom ending until sun- 
set. In the evening, Elnathan Withers dozed in his 
stuffed chair, while he tried to beat time to the duet 
going on at the other end of the room, and Harriet, 
bolt upright in the middle of a sofa, did wondrous 
things with a spool of cotton or silk and a crochet- 
needle — and took observations with her beady eyes. 

She was discreet as to the result of these. For 
aught that could be gathered from her words or con- 
duct, she approved entirely of the growing intimacy 
between the married lady and the agreeable bachelor. 
Elnathan was not a man of fine feelings and strong 


344 


CHARYBDIS. 


^ affections. He had made up his mind to marry be- 
cause a stylish wife would add to his individual con- 
sequence, and adorn his already princely establish- 
ment. Constance Romaine pleased his critical eye, 
and captivated whatever of fancy dwelt in his prac- 
tical nature. Yet,' having wedded, he trusted her. 
She offended him sometimes. He often wished that 
she were interpenetrated with something of Harriet’s 
reverence for himself ; that she would put forth more 
effort to anticipate his wishes, and conform herself in 
all respects to his ideas of fitness in demeanor and 
conversation. He was never harsh in his treatment 
of these deficiencies, but his pertinacious schooling, 
his curbing and dictating, the portentous shake of his 
head and solemn curvature of the brows, irritated her 
to the extreme of forbearance. 

Edward had not been twelve hours in the house be- 
fore he perceived this endeavor on his brother’s side 
to mould a mature woman into the likeness of his 
prim ideal, and the effect wrought by it. He had sus- 
pected it in the course of his initial interview with his 
brother’s wife upon the mountain. He never told her 
that, attracted by her singing, he had stealthily neared 
the spot where she sat, and, unseen by her, been a 
witness of the tearful struggle between her real selt 
and Fate. He had pitied her heartily then, while 
comparatively ignorant of the reason for her seditious 
emotion. His compassion was more profound as he 
better understood the relations between the ill-matched 
pair. Had his personal liking for his new sister been 
less decided, he would have pronounced her unhappi- 


CHAMTBDIS. 


345 


ness to be the righteous punishment of her crime and!^ 
folly in having linked her destiny with that of a man 
whom she did not love. He had known dozens of 
other women who did the same, at the bidding of 
similar motives, and his sympathies had lain dormant. 
But this one had heart and intellect, and both were 
famishing. 

I have said that Mr. Withers’ sensibilities were not 
lively, nor his loves intense. But of all people living 
this, his only br'other, had most hold upon his heart, 
most influence upon his judgment. He made much 
of him after his formal style ; listened with obvious 
respect and secret pride to his opinions, and conceived 
the notion that his wife was highly honored when 
Edward singled her out as the object of his marked 
attentions, and did not disguise the pleasure he, the 
lion of many brilliant circles, took in her society. 
This fulness of confidence in them both, and his un- 
selfish regard for his nearest living relative, might 
have begotten softer and kindlier^sentiments toward 
him in Constance’s breast but for the palpable fact 
that he encouraged the association, not because it 
brought her enjoyment, but as a means of prolonging 
Edward’s stay with them. 

“You seem to amuse my brother,” he said to his 
wife, one morning, as she was arraying herself for her 
ride. “ His admiration of you is highly compliment- 
ary. I trust you will leave no means untried to in- 
duce him to remain with us some weeks longer. It 
gratifies me to see how amicably you get on together, 
and the friendship is especially creditable to Edward, 
15 * 


m 


CHARYBBIS. 


^nasmnch as he was universally regarded as my heir 
prior to my marriage.” 

“ In that case, he deserves all the courtesy I can 
show him,” mused Constance, going thoughtfully 
down to her steed and cavalier. ‘‘I do not know 
many men who would he so complaisant to a stum- 
bling-block in the path to worldly advancement.” 

This conversation would have thrown her off her 
guard had she ever considered it prudent to be wary 
in an association at once so natural and innocent. 
She had always liked Edward, and was growing to 
like him better every hour. They were near the 
same age, and, being of harmonious temperaments, 
they usually enjoyed the same things. He was good, 
kind, and sprightly ; amused and interested as much as 
Mr. Withers and Harriet wearied her. This was the 
reason why the sun shone more brightly ; the • breeze 
^ was more odorous ; her favorite exercise more inspirit- 
ing on that early midsummer morn than these had 
ever been before. * 

‘‘ I can hardly believe that I efiter, to-day, upon the 
third week of my sojourn in this region,” said Edward, 
when the steeply-rising ground compelled them to 
slacken their speed. 

“Is it possible?” The exclamation was not a 
polite and meaningless formula, as Constance brought 
her startled eyes around to his. “It seems a very 
little while ago that you came to us. You do not 
think of leaving us soon, I hope ? ” ^ 

“I cannot say positively how long I shall stay. 
This visit is a welcome exchange for my long wander- 


OHARYBDIS. 


347 


ings. This — ^my brother’s home — is the only one i*. 
have in America. Yet I was dissatisfied with it last 
year. Elnathan was often absent — you know best 
upon what business” — smiling, meaningly, ‘^and, to 
be candid with you, our Cousin Harriet is not the 
person whom I should voluntarily select as my only 
companion in a desert. But for my gun and fishing- 
rod, I should have committed suicide, or run away 
and left her to the tender mercies of the Hibernian 
domestics and the bears. I would not be so com- 
municative touching her to any but a member of the 
family. But she is one of my Mtes noires. I never 
liked her.” 

‘‘ Hor I ! ” answered Constance, energetically. 

“ Then, my little sister, you and I should unite our 
forces to counteract her influence with my brother. 
His disposition is, in some respects, singularly guile- 
less. He believes that Harriet’s officious regard for 
his comfort, and deference to his wishes and opinions, 
have their root in sincere attachment for himself. 
We know better — know her to be as mercenary as 
she thinks herself cunning, and that she clings to 
him as the leech does to him whose blood is fatten- 
ing it. I lose all patience with her fawning and flat- 
teries, when I recollect that these are the tricks by 
which she hopes to earn her living, and, at his de- 
cease, a comfortable legacy.” 

Constance’s face was averted, and screened from 
his view by her vwillow plume. Her voice was low, 
and had in it an inflexion of mournful charity for the 
assailed parasite, or an echo borrowed from some sor- 


348 


GHABYBDI8. 


^owful reminiscence. She is a woman, and poor I ” 
she said. A woman, too, whom society forbids, 
upon penalty of banishment from the circle in which 
she was born and bred, to seek a livelihood by ma- 
nual labor. It is easy for men to talk of freedom of 
thought and action. The world is before them. To 
them, the bread of charity and dependence mean one 
and the same thing. The latter is the only nourish- 
ment of most women, from the cradle to the tomb. 
I wish the passage between the two were shorter — for 
their sake.” 

I never looked at the subject in that light be- 
fore,” was Edward’s remorseful reply. Poor old 
Harriet ! I see now how much more she merits pity 
thah contempt.” 

“ She is no worse off than thousands of her sis- 
ters,” said Constance, in harsher judgment. ‘‘Con- 
tent yourself with giving thanks that you were born 
a man ! ” 

She had spoken out of the pain of a wrung spirit, 
with no thought of pleading her own cause. She 
was too proud to murmur, least of all to her hus- 
band’s brother. But the conversation was a key that 
unlocked for her in his heart recesses of interest and 
sympathy which must else have remained forever 
barred against a woman who, whatever were her vir- 
tues and fascinations, had deliberately bartered her 
charms, and perjured herself in order to secure an 
eligible settlement. 

“ And, to do her justice, she is superior to the prac- 
tice of the arts that make Harriet acceptable to my 


CHABYBDIS. 


349 


brother, and odious to everybody else,” be meditated. 
“ She offers no profession of devotion to the man she 
has married, while she accords to him the respectful 
duty of a wife. Elnathan seems satisfied. Perhaps 
he craves nothing warmer. Pray Heaven he may 
n6ver guess of how much fate has defrauded him, in 
withholding from him the free, glad affection of a 
true woman ! ” 

If there were any change in his behavior to Con- 
stance after this, it was to be discerned in^a gentler 
address, in unobtrusive regard for her wishes, ex- 
pressed or surmised, and a prolongation of his stay in 
a house that held so few attractions for her. That 
this arrangenient was highly satisfactory to his brother 
was not without effect in shaping his conduct. That 
Harriet plied him with solicitations to remain before 
his decision was announced, and was loudly voluble 
in her protestations of delight when the question was 
settled, had not a straw’s weight with him. She an- 
noyed him less than formerly, however, either, as he 
explained it to himself, because he had learned charity 
from Constance’s defence of the lonely spinster’s pol- 
icy, or because she kept herself more in the back- 
ground than was her wont. She seemed amiably 
disposed towards Constance, too, and he strove to 
credit her with kind intentions with regard to one 
whom most people in her situation would have hated 
as a usurper. She abetted whatever project of out- 
door excursion or domestic recreation was proposed 
by him for Constance’s diversion, offering herself as 
the wife’s substitute in the sober phaeton-drive on 


350 


CHABYBDIS. 


breezy afternoons, that Constance and Edward might 
act as outriders, and did not fail to call the hus- 
band’s notice to her graceful horsemanship, and 
the brighter bloom planted in her cheeks by the ex- 
ercise.. Mr. Withers never tired of chess, and the 
indefatigable toad-eater apparently shared his zeal on 
this point. The board was produced nightly as the 
days became shorter and the evenings cooler, and 
music, reading, or conversation upon art and litera- 
ture was carried on for hours by the remaining two 
of the quartette without interruption from the auto- 
mata bent over the checkered surface. 

For Harriet could be taciturn when need was — a 
very lay figure in dumbness as in starch. Whether 
she ever ceased to b^watchful was another matter. 

It was October before the family made a formal 
removal to town. One of the brothers, sometimes 
both, spent two or three days a week there in Sep- 
tember, and, since the uncertain sunshine and cold 
rains of autumn confined the ladies for the most part 
to the house, they were ready to second the proposi- 
tion to seek their winter quarters. Edward Withers 
was regularly installed as one of his brother’s house- 
hold, and under his auspices city life also put on a 
new face for Constance. He had a box at the opera, 
and Elnathan was foremost to suggest that Constance 
should accompany him thither. 

‘‘ That is, when you are not engaged to escort single 
ladies,” added the senior, with a dry smile. 

“ Which will not happen often if I can have my 
sister’s company instead,”, replied the other, cordially. 


CHARYBDIS. 


351 


“ But cannot we make up a family party of four to- 
morrow night? I can promise you a treat.” 

“ Musical treats, when they are operatic, are thrown 
away upon me,” was the answer. “ But I am anxious 
that Constance shall keep up her practising, and, to 
this end, desire her to have every opportunity of im- 
proving her taste and style. You and she can give 
home-concerts of the latest gems in this line for Har- 
riet’s benefit and mine.” 

Harriet applauded the idea to the echo, and was 
careful that he should not regret the young people’s 
absence on the evenings they spent abroad, playing 
chess with him for a couple of hours, and then reading 
aloud monetary or political articles selected by him- 
self until he dropped into a »^:e. They were left 
thus to themselves more andjjKre as the season ad- 
vanced. Invitations to parties, concerts, and dinners 
rained in upon Mrs. and the Messrs'.** Withers, and to 
most of these Constance went, attended by Edward 
only. Mr. Withers had never been social from in- 
clination, and he was only too glad to delegate his 
duties in this line*to his wife, now that the protection 
of his brother rendered his attendance unnecessary. 

Constance did not confess in words to herself how 
greatly her pleasure was augmented by the exchange 
of escorts. It was natural that a man of her hus- 
band’s age and disposition should prefer his own fire- 
side to dancing, and small-talk, and a wearisome 
feint of hearkening to harmonies that were unintelli- 
gible and without sweetness to him. She enjoyed 
gay scenes with an easier conscience that she did not 


352 


CHABTBDI8. 


see his grave visage at every turn of the waltz or 
promenade, and was not haunted by the thought of 
her selfishness in having dragged him from his be- 
loved retirement. How much this feeling of relief 
was intensified by the circumstance that her willing 
cavalier was the most delightful talker, one of the 
best dancers, and, assuredly, the most gracefully at- 
tentive to his fair charge in the cordon of beaux who 
frequented the fashionable resorts just named, did not 
enter into her complacent calculations. She was on 
excellent terms with herself and all about her at this 
juncture. The acquaintances who had carped at her 
reserve and want of animation in the few assemblies 
at which she had appeared as a bride, candidly avowed 
that nothing could be more charming than her affa- 
bility and gay good-humor, and that she was far 
handsomer than they had supposed at first sight. 

The more captious subjoined, svh rosa^ that it was 
evident she appreciated (convenient word !) M.i\ Ed- 
ward Withers, and how fortunate she was in securing 
the services ‘of an escort so unexceptionable in every 
particular, since her husband seomed to have re- 
nounced society just as she fairly entered it. 

“ But,” subjoined Ho. 2, audibly delivered, ‘‘ peo- 
ple had different ways of looking at these things, 
and, so long as Mr. Withers lived happily with his 
wife, and countenanced her in. all she did, whose 
business was it to hint at impropriety or misplaced 
confidence ? ” 

That Mr. Withers did countenance his wife in her 
lively career was not to be denied. It gratified him 


CHARYBDm 


353 


to see her, magnificent] j dressed, go forth to gather- 
ings at which, as he was sure to hear afterwards, she 
was the object of general admiration for her beaiitj 
and vivacity. It tickled his vanity to have her do 
the honors of his mansion to a choice company of 
Edward’s friends and hers — people in whose eyes he, 
the sedate millionnaire, could never hope to he more 
than the respectable representative of his money-bags. 
They were glad to congregate in his stately saloon 
now, to partake of his fine old wines and excellent 
viands, and unite in laudations of the handsome wo- 
man w’ho bore his name. Adulation did not spoil 
her, he was pleased to observe. She had never been 
mere deferential in her deportment to himself, more 
ready to consult and obey him than when the star of 
her popularity was highest and brightest. In this, 
she testified her good sense and feeling heart. To 
whom should she be grateful and dutiful, if not to 
her benefactor, the architect of her fortune and hap- 
piness ? Association with him and with .his brother 
had developed her finely. He took credit to himself 
for the penetration that had detected the germs of so 
much that was estimable and attractive when she 
was still in the obscurity of her brother’s house. 

“ A happy family, a thoroughly well organized 
establishment,” remarked Charles Komaine to his 
wife, at the close of a visit they paid his sister in Ja- 
nuary. “ Constance should be thankful to us all her 
days for opposing her absurd transcendentalism about 
congeniality and mutual attraction, and the like pue- 
rile nonsense. What a wreck she would have made 


364 


CHAMTBDIS. 


of her happiness had she been left to pursue the 
course dictated by her own caprices I I hope, Mar- 
garet, that wc shall not have to combat the like 
errors in our daughters when they grow up.” 

“ Constance had a fund of strong common sense in 
spite, of her crudely extravagant theories upon cer- 
tain subjects,” rejoined Mrs. Romaine. “ Thanks to 
it, and, as you justly observe, to our counsels, she has 
married better than any other young woman I know. 
Yes, I can ask no more enviable lot for our girls than 
one like hers.” 

According to these irrefragable authorities, then, 
our heroine had steered clear of the rock upon which 
so many of her age and sex have split ; kept out of 
the current that would have stranded her, high and 
forlorn, upon the barren headlands of celibacy ; had, 
virtuously eschewing ‘‘ crude ” instinct, and heart- 
promptings, and natural laws (fit only, in Mrs. Ro- 
maine’s creed, for the guidance of beasts, and birds, 
and other irrational things), rendered just and grace- 
ful obedience to the equitable principle prescribed 
and practised by the autocrats of the “ best circles.” 
These burning and shining beacons cease not, night 
nor day, to warn off the impetuous young from the 
rigors and desolation of Scylla, and cast such illusive 
glare upon Charybdis as makes its seething rapids 
seem a Pacific of delicious calm. 

Upon as smooth a current were Constance Withers’ 
conscience and prudence rocked to sleep during the 
early months of that winter. Winter! Never had 
summer been so replete with light and warmth. 


CHARYBDIS. 


355 


There is a divine delight in the slow sweep of the 
outer circles of the maelstrom ; the half consciousness 
of the awakening heart, like that of the babe, who, 
aroused from slumber bj his mother’s voice, smiles 
recognition of the dear music before his ejes are un- 
sealed by her kisses, or his head is nestled upon her 
bosom. 

That to every human heart such awakening comes, 
sooner or later^ I hold and believe for certain. Des- 
erts of salt and bitterness there are in the spiritual as 
in the material world ; but there was a time when 
the Creator, whose name is Love, pronounced them 
“very good,” when as yet the flood, and the rain of 
lire and brimstone had not made havoc of all their 
pleasant things, nor the soft soil been hardened into 
flint and gravel by dearth and heat. And, to that 
garden of the Lord’s planting there came a day — 
when, or of what duration He knows, and perchance 
He alone — when the south wind blew softly, and all 
the spices thereof flowed out — spikenard and saffron, 
calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense, 
myrrh, and aloes. It may have been but for one glad 
hour — one moment of bewildering bliss, that the heart 
thus visited was transformed into a fountain of gar- 
dens ; a well of living waters, and streams from Leba- 
non. The next may have witnessed the rush of the 
deluge or the bursting of the pitchy clouds ; and be- 
hold ! in place of Eden, a lair of wild beasts, a house 
full of doleful creatures, meet for the dwelling of owls 
and the dance of satyrs. 

Other visions than these images of woe and terror 


366 


0HARYBDI8. 


abode with Constance ; formless fancies, fair as vague ; 
specious reveries in which she lived through coming 
years as she was doing now, surrounded by the same 
outward comforts; her steps guarded by the same 
friend, whose mere presence meant contentment ; with 
whom the interchange of thought and feeling left 
nothing to be desired from human sympathy. It was 
a severe shock that showed her the precipice upon 
the flowery verge of which she lay dreaming. 

The brothers were, one morning, discussing at break- 
fast the merits of a pair of horses that had been ofibred 
for sale to the elder. For a wonder, Edward displayed 
more caution in accepting the jockey’s declaration of 
their fltness for family use than did his staid relative. 
Mr. Withers was very obstinate in his adherence to 
whatever principle or prejudice he believed that he 
had seen cause to adopt, and his eye had been cap- 
tivated by the showy team ; his credulous hearing 
gained by the adroit tongue of the dealer. All that 
Edward’s dissuasions could efiect was acquiescence in 
his proposal that they should try the horses before 
the sleigh that afternoon, before deciding upon the 
purchase. 

Harriet clapped her hands vivaciously. And then 
you’ll drive by and give us a turn behind the beauties ! 
I am sure they must be heavenly from what Cousin 
Elnathan says. I am wild to see them ! ” 

‘‘ There is a look in the eye of one that bespeaks 
the spirit of another region,” said Edward, apart to 
Constance. 

‘‘Don’t ride after them!” she . entreated quickly. 


0HARTBDI8. 35T 

“ Your brother will yield if you tell him plainly how 
unsafe you consider them.” 

“ Not unsafe for him and myself, perhaps ; but 
hardly the creatures to be intrusted with your life and 
limb,” he rejoined. “ Rest assured that I shall make 
a thorough test of them before consenting to the ven- 
ture. I shall drive them myself, and speak out frank- 
ly the result of the trial. In whatever else we may 
differ, Elnathan and I are a unit in our care for your 
welfare. So, if we show ourselves and the heavenl}^ 
span of quadrupeds at the door to-day, you need not 
fear to accept our invitation.” 

The gentle and affectionate reassurance contrasted 
pleasantly with Mr. Withers’ authoritative mandate. 
“ Constance ! you will hold yourself in readiness to 
drive out with- us, this afternoon. We shall call for 
you at three o’clock. I wish you and Harriet to be 
entirely prepared for the ride when we come. Young 
horses do not like to stand in the cold.” 

An impulse she did not stay to' define drew Con- 
stance to the window as the two gentlemen descended 
the front steps, side by side. Mr. Withers was a 
trifle the taller of the two, but his figure was angular 
and unbending; Edward’s supple and elegant, while 
scarcely a trace of family likeness existed between the 
swarthy visage of the elder, with its deep-set eyes, 
long upper lip, and high, narrow forehead, and the 
lively glance, clear complexion, and spirited mouth 
that made Edward’s physiognomy a goodly sight to 
more eyes than those that met the parting smile he 
cast up at the parlor window, when he gained the 


358 


CHABYBDI8, 


pavement. He lifted his hat at the same moment, 
whereas Mr. Withers stalked solemnly on, apparently 
forgetful already that he had a home and wife, now 
that his face was set office-ward. 

‘‘ Shadow and sunshine ! ” reflected the gazer. 
‘‘And they are not more unlike in countenance than 
in disposition, aims, and conduct — as dissimilar as 
two upright men can be.” 

Harriet’s shallow treble sounded at her elbow like 
a repetition of the last thought. “Ho one would 
ever take them to be relatives,” she said. “ Yet each 
is excellent in his way. Don’t you think so? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Constance, moving away. 

“ Only their ways are so different ! ” persisted the 
cousin. “ I like Elnathan best, of course, but Edward 
is the more popular man of the two, I believe — ^isn’t 
he?” 

“ I really do not know ! ” Constance left the room 
in uttering the falsehood. 

Harriet had a trick of making her intensely un- 
comfortable whenever the talk between them turned 
upon the brothers. 

“ I hate comparisons I ” she said to herself, when 
she reached her room. “ And it is forward and in- 
delicate in her to institute them in my hearing.” 

Convinced that the sudden heat warming her heart 
and cheeks was excited by Harriet’s impertinence, she 
made it her business to stop thinking of the conversa- 
tion and its origin so soon as she could dismiss it and 
turn her attention to pleasanter things. It was more 
innocent and agreeable work, for instance, to write 


CHARTED 18. 


359 


out Edward’s part of a new duet upon a fair sheet of 
paper, which he could hold in his hand as he stood by 
her at the piano, the printed copy being so blurred as 
to try his eyes. He was very slightly near-sighted, 
although a casual acquaintance would not have sus- 
pected .it. She copied music legibly and rapidly, and 
lately had hit upon this happy device of making him 
some poor return for the manifold services he had 
rendered her. All that I can do leaves me deplo- 
rably in his debt,” she reasoned. I never knew 
what was the fulness and disinterestedness of a broth- 
er’s love until I met him. But all brothers are not 
so considerate or so devoted as is he. I should under- 
stand that.” 

The conclusion was in her mind often enough every 
day of her life to become hackneyed, yet it always 
brought with it a strange, sweet thrill. Truly sister- 
ly affection was a holy and a beautiful thing 1 She 
had read as much in moral philosophy, and likewise 
in poetry. Few feelings could compare with it in 
unselfish fervor and constancy. And, as she had said, 
Edward was one brother in ten thousand^ — and not to 
be compared with common men. 

She began the preparations for the drive at half 
past two, pursuant to her husband’s directions. Not 
that she expected to leave the house that afternoon. 
Edward’s judgment being, in her estimation, but one 
remove from infallibility, she could not believe that 
the trial of the horses would result’ as Mr. Withers 
had predicted, but that they would be remanded to 
the stable and custody of the unreliable jockey with- 


360 


0EABTBDI8. 


out approaching her door, or gladdening Harriet’s 
eyes. Nevertheless, the order had gone forth that she 
should don her cloak, furs, hat, and gloves before 
three o’clock, and Mr. Withers would be displeased 
were he to return at five, and find her in a home 
dress. Harriet tapped at the door before she was 
half ready. 

“ Just to remind you, my dear madam,” she said, 
sweetly, “ of what my cousin said about keeping the 
horses standing.” She was equipped cap-a-pie for 
the excursion, and Constance renewed her silent ac- 
cusation of impertinent forwardness as she saw her 
trip down stairs to take her station at a front window, 
that “ my cousin ” might see, at the first glance, that 
she was ready and eager for the promised — and be- 
cause promised by him — certain pleasure of the jaunt. 

Constance was surprised, five minutes before the 
hour designated, to hear a bustle and men’s voices in 
the lower hall. They had really come, then, in spite 
of her prognostications. Drawing on her gloves that 
she might not be accused of dilatoriness, she walked 
to the door of her chamber, when it was thrown wide 
against her by her maid. 

“ O ma’am ! ” she blubbered, her cheeks like ashes, 
and her eyes bulging from their sockets. May all 
the blessed saints have mercy upon ye ! There’s been 
the dreadfullest accident ! Them brutes of horses 
has run away, and Mr. Witherses and Mr. Edward is 
both killed dead ! They’re a-bringing them up stairs 
this blessed minit, and ” — catching her mistVess’ skirt 
as she dashed past her — “ you’re not to be frightened, 


CEABYBDIS. 


361 


ma’am, the doctor says ! He sent me up for to tell 
you careful ! ” 

Unhearing and unheeding, Constance wrested her 
dress from the girl’s hold, and met upon the upper 
landing of the staircase four men bearing a senseless 
form. The head was sunk upon the breast, and the 
face hidden by the shoulders of those who carried 
him, but her eye fell instantly upon the right hand 
which hung loosely by his side. She recognized the 
fur gauntlet that covered it as one of a pair of riding- 
gloves she had given Edward Withers at Christmas, 
and which he had worn since whenever he drove or 
rode. She had seen him pocket them that morning 
before going out. 

‘‘ Mrs. Withers ! my dear lady ! you really must 
not touch him yet ! ” said the attendant physician, 
preventing her when she would have thrown her 
arms about the injured man. He pulled her back by 
main force, that the body might be carried into thjd 
chamber she had just quitted. 

“ Let me go ! Let me go ! Do you hear me ? ” her 
voice rising into a shrill scream that chilled the veins 
and pained the hearts of all who heard it. “ Dead 
or alive, he belongs to me, and to no one else ! Man ! 
how dare you hold me ? You do not know how much 
I loved him — my darling ! O my darling ! ” 

The doctor was a muscular man, but, in her agony 
of despair, she was stronger than he, and bade fair to 
master him, as she wrestled to undo his grasp upon 
her arms. 

“ Is there no one in this place who can persuade 
16 


362 


CHARTED IS. 


her to be calm ? ” he asked, imploringly, looking back 
down the stairs, upon which was huddled a throng of 
servants and curious spectators who had followed the 
sad cortege into the house. 

There was a movement at the foot of the steps, 
then the crowd parted instantly and silently, unno- 
ticed by the frantic woman. She was still struggling, 
threatening and praying to be released, when a pallid 
face, streaked with blood, confronted hers — a tender 
hand touched her arm. 

“ Constance, my dear sister, my poor girl, come 
with me ! Will you not ? ” said compassionate tones. 

“ She has fainted. That is the best thing that 
could have happened,’’ said the doctor, sustaining the 
dead weight of the sinking figure with more ease 
than he had held the writhing one. 

They bore her across the hall to Edward’s r|>om as 
the most convenient retreat for her in her insensible 
^ate, and, while the maid-servants loosened her dress 
and applied restoratives, a more anxious group was 
gathered in her apartment about her husband. His 
visible injuries were severe, if not dangerous. His 
collar-bone and right arm were broken, but it was 
feared there was internal and more serious hurt. 
Just as a gasp and a hollow groan attested the return 
of consciousness, a message was brought to Edward 
from the opposite bed-room. 

‘‘ She ‘do call for you all the time, sir, or I would 
not have made so bold as to disturb ye,” said the 
girl, who had beckoned him to the entrance. She 
is a bit out of her head, poor lady ! ” 


CHARYBDIS. 


363 


‘‘Where is Miss Field ? Why does she not attend 
to Mrs. Withers? ” asked Edward, glancing reluctantly 
at his brother’s bed. 

In after days he could smile at the recollection of 
the reply, uttered with contemptuous indifference : 
“ Oh ! she’s agoing into high-strikes on the back par- 
lor sofy.” 

At the time, he was only conscious of impatience 
at the call of pity that obliged him to leave his per- 
haps djdng relative in the hands of comparative 
strangers. He ceased to regret his compliance when 
the tears that burst from Constance’s eyes at sight of 
him were not attended by the ravings which had ter- 
rified her attendants. He sat down upon the edge 
of the bed, and leaned over to kiss the sobbing lips. 
“ My dear sister, precious child ! ” he said, as a mo- 
ther might soothe an affrighted daughter, and she 
dropped her head upon his shoulder, to weep herself 
into silence, if not composure. 

When she could listen, he gave the history of the 
misadventure in a few words. Mr. Withers had in- 
sisted upon handling the reins himself. This account- 
ed to the auditor for his use of Edward’s gloves, as 
being thicker than his, although their owner made no 
mention of having lent them to him. The horses 
had behaved tolerably well until they were within 
three blocks of home, when they had shied violently 
at a passing omnibus, jerked the reins from the dri- 
ver’s hands, and dashed dowm the street. The sleigh 
upset at the first corner, and both the occupants were 
thrown out; Mr. Withers striking forcibly against a 


364 


CHARTBDIS, 


lamp-post, while Edward was partially stunned upon 
the curb-stone. They had been brought to their own 
door in a carriage, the younger brother reviving in 
time to alight, with a little assistance from a friendly 
bystander, and to superintend the other’s removal to 
the house and up the stairs. 

Constance heard him through without interruption 
or comment, voluntarily raised her head from its 
resting-place, and lay back upon her pillows, covering 
her face with her hands. One or two quiet tears 
made their way between her fingers ere she removed 
them, but her hysterical sobbing had ceased. “ I am 
thankful for your safety,” she said, so composedly, 
that it sounded coldly unfeeling. “ I^ow go back to 
your brother. He needs you, and I do not. I shall 
be better soon, and tlien I must bear my part in nurs- 
ing him. If he should ask for me, let me know with- 
out delay.” She sent her servants out when he had 
gone, and locked her door on the inside. 

“Who’d have thought that she and Mr. Edward 
would take it so hard?” said the cook, as exponent 
of the views of the kitchen cabinet. “ If so be the 
masther shouldn’t get over this, it will go nigh to 
killing her. I never knowed she were that fond of 
him. Ah, well ! she ought to be, for it’s her he’ll 
lave well provided for. I’ll be bound ! Them as has 
heaps to lave has plenty to mourn for them.” 

An hour elapsed before Mr. Withers understood 
aright where he was and what had happened, and 
then his wife’s face was the first object he recognized. 
It was almost as bloodless as his, yet she was collect- 


CHAKTBBIS. 


365 


ed and lielpful, a more efficient coadjutor to the sur- 
geons than was fidgety Harriet, whose buzzings and 
hoverings over the wounded man reminded Edward 
of a noisy and persistent gad-fiy. 

The moved gentleness of Constance’s tone in an- 
swering the patient’s inquiries was mistaken by the 
attendants for fondest commiseration, and the family 
physician’s unspoken thought would have chimed in 
well with the servant’s verdict. Mr. and Mrs. With- 
ers were not reputed to be a loving couple, but, in 
moments of distress and danger, the truth generally 
came to light. ISTo husband, however idolized, could 
be nursed more faithfully or have excited greater an- 
guish of solicitude than spoke in her dry eyes and 
rigid features, even if her wild outbreak at first see- 
ing him had not betrayed her real sentiments. 

In her calmer review of the scene, Constance could 
feel grateful for the spectators’ misconception which 
had shielded her from the consequences of her mad- 
ness ; could shudder at the thought of the ignominy 
she had narrowly escaped. But this was not the gulf 
from which she now recoiled with horror and self- 
loathing that led her to avoid meeting the eyes bent 
curiously or sympathizingly upon her, and to cling to 
the nerveless hand of him whose trust she had be- 
trayed. To him, her husband, she had not given a 
thought when the dread tidings of disaster and death 
were brought to her. What to her was an empty 
marriage vow, what the world’s reprobation, when 
she believed that Edward lay lifeless before her ? 

Man ! you do not know how I have loved him ! ” 


366 


CHARYBDIS. 


she had said. She might have added, “ I never knew 
it myself until now.” And what was this love — 
coming when, and as it did — but a crime, a sin to be 
frowned upon by Heaven, and denounced by man ? 
A blemish, which, if set upon her brow, as it was 
upon her soul, 'would condemn her to be ranked with‘ 
the outcast of her sex, the creatures whom austere 
matronhood blasts with lightnings of indignant scorn, 
and pure virgins blush to name ? 



CHAPTEE IV. 


HALL yon be too much engaged at the office 
to-day, Edward, to drive out with Constance 
at noon?” questioned Mr. Withers, one 
morning, when his brother came to his room 
to inquire after his health, and to receive his 
commands for the business-day. 

Certainly not ! Hothing would give me more 
pleasure ! ” As he said it, the respondent turned with 
a pleasant smile to his sister-in-law, who was pouring 
out her husband’s chocolate at a stand set in front of 
his lounge. 

She started perceptibly at the proposition, and her 
hand shook in replacing the silver pot upon the tray. 

I could not think of it ! ” she said, hastily. It is 
kind and thoughtful in you to suggest it, Elnathan, 
but, indeed, I greatly prefer to remain at home.” 

It is my preference that you should go ! ” The 
invalid spoke decidedly, but less irascibly than he 
would have done to any one else who resisted his 
authority. “ It is now four weeks since my accident, 
and you have scarcely left the house in all that time. 



368 


CHABTBDIS. 


You are growing thin and pale from want of sleep 
and exercise.” 

I practise calisthenics every day, as you and Doc- 
tor Weldon advised,” rejoined Constance, timidly. 

“ But within doors. You need the fresh outdoor 
air, child. You have taken such good care of me, 
that I should be very remiss in my duty, were I to 
allow you to neglect your own health.” 

He had grown very fond of her within the period 
he had mentioned, and showed it, in his weakness, more 
openly than dignity would have permitted, had he 
been well. He put his hand upon her shoulder, as 
she sat upon a stool beside him, the cup of chocolate 
in her hand. “ Recollect ! I must get another nurse 
should your health fail. You see how selfish I am ? ” 
A jest from him was noteworthy, for its rarity ; but 
Constance could not form her lips into a smile. They 
trembled, instead, in replying. “ I see how good and 
generous you are 1 I wfill drive, if you insist upon it, 
but there is not the slightest necessity for your broth- 
er’s escort. John is very careful and attentive. Or, 
if you wish me to have company, I will call for Mrs. 
Mellen. She has no carriage, you know.” 

“Send yours for her whenever you like, by all 
means. But, until I am able to accompany you, it is 
my desire that Edward shall be with you in your 
drives, whenever this is practicable. My late adven- 
ture has made me fearful, I suppose. Call this a sick 
man’s fancy, if you will, my dear, but indulge it. At 
twelve, then, Edward, the carriage will be ready. 
Ascertain for yourself before you set out, that the har- 


CHAItYBDIS. 369 

ness is all right, and have an eye to the coachman’s 
management of the horses.” 

Opposition was futile, hut Constance’s countenance 
was so downcast at the prospect of the excursion, that 
Edward made a pretext, before going out, to call her 
into the adjoining sitting-room. 

“ How have I forfeited my place in your good 
graces ? ” he began, in playfulness, that was lost in ear- 
nestness before he finished his speech. ‘‘ I have tried 
to persuade myself that your cold avoidance of me, for 
weeks past, and your rejection of my services whenever 
it is possible for you to dispense with them, was, in 
part, an unfounded fancy of my own, and partly the 
result of your absorption in the dear duty that has de- 
manded your time and thoughts. I have begun, late- 
ly, to have other fears — dreads lest I liad unwittingly 
wounded or displeased you. Do me the justice to be- 
lieve that, if this be so, the ofience was unconscious.” 

“ You have ofiered none — none whatever!” inter- 
posed Constance, with cold emphasis. I am sorry 
my manner has given rise to such apprehensions.” 

“ That is not spoken like the frank sister of a month 
ago,” said Edward, retaining the hand she would have 
withdrawn. I will not release you until you tell 
me what is the shadow upon the affection that was to 
me more dear than any other friendship, and which I 
dared hope was much to you. Be, for one instant, 
yourself, and tell me all.” 

She was very pale, but, in desperation, she tried to 
laugh. You must not call me to account for my 
looks and actions nowadays, Edward. I think, some- 
16 * 


370 


CIIARYBDIS. 


times, til at I am not quite sane. I have gone through 
much suffering ; been the prey of imaginings, that al- 
most deprived me of reason, besides enduring the real 
and present trial. And Heaven knows how unready 
I w^as for it all ! ” 

One word, my dear girl, and my inquisition is 
over. Assure me honestly, and without fear of wound- 
ing me, have you ever, in your most secret thought, 
blamed me for the casualty which so nearly widowed 
you ? I did try, as you can bear me witness, to dis- 
suade him whom we both love from the experiment 
that cost him so dear. The idea that you may have 
doubted this has pained me inexpressibly.” 

“ Dismiss the suspicion at once and forever ! ” Con- 
stance looked steadily into his face, and spoke calmly. 
‘‘ The thought has never entered my mind. I blame 
no one for my trouble — excepting myself! ” 

Before she could divine his purpose, Edward had 
put his arm over her shoulder and pressed his lips to 
hers. ‘Het bygones be bygones!” he said, brightly 
and fondly. “We have too much to live and to hope 
for to waste time in nursing unhealthy surmises and 
fears.” 

The sharp little interjection came from 
the threshold of the door leading into the hall, where 
Miss Field was discovered in a fine attitude of bashful 
apology, faintly fiavored with prudish consternation. 
“ I did not dream you were here. I was on my way 
to my cousin’s room!” she continued, in a prodigious 
flutter of ringlets and shoulders. “ I beg a million 
pardons, I am sure. ” 


CHARYBDIS. 


3n 


“You need not beg one!” said the undaunted 
Edward, without releasing Constance. “Connie 
and I have been settling a trivial misunderstanding 
in good boy-and-girl style — have just ‘kissed and 
made up,’ and we now mean to be better friends than 
ever.” 

“ He ! he ! you are excessively candid, to be sure 1 ” 
tittered Harriet. “But ” — shaking her black curls — 
“Mrs. Withers knows men and human nature too well 
to believe quite all you say. We must not forget, my 
dear madam, that men were deceivers ever.” 

“ You speak feelingly,” said Edward, carelessly, fol- 
lowing Constance with his eye, as she moved silently 
toward her husband’s chamber. “ I shall caution 
the lady of my love — should the gods ever bestow one 
upon me — not to sip of the bitter waters of your wis- 
dom.” 

Had he seen the glitter of the round, black orbs 
that pui’sued his retiring figure, he might have made 
a more thoughtful exit, his run down the stairs been 
less swift, the air he hummed, as he went, less gay. 

He had a pleasant drive ; Constance an hour of 
mingled sweet and bitterness. It was difficult to bear 
lier part in the apparent renewal of the familiar inter- 
course of other days, without relaxing the severe 
guard she had set upon herself from the moment she 
discovered the true nature of the sentiment she enter- 
tained for her husband’s brother. She could not help 
delighting in his society, in the manifold proofs of 
loving concern for her comfort and happiness of 
which she was the recipient. Yet, underlying this 


372 


OjB^AurBms. 


secret and fleeting joy, was the ever present shame 
that marked her remembrance of her guilty weak- 
ness, and the. despairing knowledge that remorse, 
duty, and resolve had thus far- availed nothing to con- 
quer it. 

She looked jaded, rather than refreshed, upon her 
return, although she had curtailed the ride in opposi- 
tion to Edward’s advice. Wild, rebellious thoughts 
fought for mastery within her all the while she was 
with him, the promptings of an insane familiar she 
could not cast out. “If I had met him, two years 
ago, instead of his brother, and he had wooed me, the 
love which is now my disgrace would have been 
my glory,” she was tempted to repeat, again and 
again. “ Yet my fitness to receive his afiection and my 
need of him are the same to-day as they were then. 
Is he the less my companion soul, the mate God meant 
for me, because, led by other’s counsels, I blundered 
into a loveless connection with another ! Which is 
the criminal bond — that ordained by my Maker, or 
the compact which has had no blessing save the 
approval of cold-hearted and mercenary mortals? 
Outwardly we must remain as we are ; but who is 
defrauded if I dream of what might have been ? if I 
love him for what he is in himself, not for what he 
is to me ? ” 

Then, shaking off the spell, she would loathe her- 
self for the vile suggestions, and pray in a blind, hea- 
thenish way, to Him who had sent her pain, to sus- 
tain her under it, to keep her from falling into the 
fouler mire of open defiance of her husband’s claims 


CHAnTBDia. 373 

upon her fealty in word and act, to hold her fast to 
the semblance of right and honor. 

Parting from Edward at the outer entrance with a 
brief phrase of thanks for his kindness in accompany- 
ing her, she ran up to her husband’s room and opened 
the door without knocking. A gentleman, whom she 
recognized as a prominent city lawyer, stood by the 
lounge with a paper in his hand. Two young men, 
apparently clerks, were withdrawn a little into the 
background, and a table bearing writing materials 
was between them and the others. 

“You acknowledge this instrument to be your will 
and testament, and in token thereof, have set hereto 
your signature and seal the lawyer was saying as 
the door swung noiselessly ajar, and Constance stop- 
ped, unable to advance or retreat. 

Mr. Withers glanced around when he had given 
assent. “ Come in, my dear,” he said, quietly. “We 
shall soon be through this little matter.” 

She dropped into a chair near the door, her heart 
palpitating with force that beat every drop of blood 
from her cheeks. Some sudden and awful change 
must have taken place while she was out, to call for 
the presence of these men. Her frame was chill as 
with the shadow of death, but the one overpowering 
thought that smote her, was that her husband’s ap- 
proaching decease was the direct answer of an angry 
Judge to her wicked outcry against her fate and long- 
ings to escape it. In this grisly shape was the free- 
dom to appear for which she had panted. But she 
knew that when the cage was torn down she would 


3Y4 


CIlAliYBDIS. 


feel like a murderess. She never forgot the short- 
lived horror of that moment. 

Mr. Withers dismissed his visitors when the wit- 
nesses had affixed their names to the will, and tliey 
bowed themselves out, each noting, more or less fur- 
. tivelj, as he passed, the dilated eyes and colorless 
^ face of the wife, and drawing his own conclusions 
therefrom. 

She got up and walked totteringly forward at her 
husband’s gesture. He was no paler than when she 
had left him, and smiled more easily than was his habit, 
when he noticed the signs of her extreme alarm. 

I was afraid you would be frightened if I talked 
in your hearing of making my will,” he said, encou- 
ragingly. “ To avoid this, I arranged that Mr. Hall 
should wait upon me while you were driving. He 
was behind his time, and you were back earlier than 
I anticipated. . I regret the meeting only for your 
sake. Perhaps it is as well, however, that I should 
acquaint you with some of the provisions of the in- 
strument you saw in Mr. Hall’s hand.” 

‘‘ Please do not ! ' I cannot bear to hear or speak 
of it ! ” protested Constance, the tears starting to her 
eyes. “ It all seems so dreadful ! ” 

‘Ht will not hasten my death one hour.” Mr. 
Withers was not quite ready to pass over without re- 
buke an absurd superstition he considered unworthy 
a rational being, even though the offender was his 
wife. You should know this. I made another will 
two years since, but circumstances have led me to 
regard it as injudicious, if not unfair. We business 


CHABTBDIS. 


375 


men are superior to tlie dread of looking forward to 
tke one certain event of mortality. We calculate tlie 
probable effect of our demise, as we do other changes 
in the mercantile and social world. By the terms of 
this will, as I was about to remark, my property, with 
the exception of a legacy to Harriet Field, is divided 
equally between yourself and Edward. And he is 
appointed sole executor. In the event of my death 
he will be your nearest connection and safest adviser. 
I wish you to remember this. It is hardly to be ex- 
pected that you, although a fair judge of character, 
should be as conversant with the qualities that fit him 
to assume these responsibilities as I am, who have been 
his business partner ever since he was twenty-one.” 

He was astonished that his wife, instead of render- 
ing a submissive verbal acquiescence to his spoken and 
written decree, began to weep so violently as to hinder 
herself from listening or replying to his speech. She 
had never conducted herself in this irrational fashion 
before in his sight, and he was naturally exceedingly 
perplexed. Aware that any attempt to soothe her 
would be awkward work to him, he lay quiet for a 
minute, hoping the emotion wmuld expend itself with- 
out his interference. Finally, he adjudged it to be 
but reasonable that she should set the bounds of her 
grief at a point somewhat short of hysterics or con- 
vulsions, and addressed her with the most stringent 
appeal he could think of : — . 

‘‘ Really, Constance, your agitation is exciting me 
most unpleasantly. I fear I shall be feverish when 
the doctor calls, if this sort of thing is kept up.” 


376 


CJIABYBBIS. 


He did not mean to be unkind or selfish. He be- 
lieved his health to be of supreme importance in her 
esteem, and that the recollection of this would set her to 
rights. The expeidment succeeded to a charm. The 
sobbing fiow of briny drops was staunched on the 
instant. 

“ I beg your pardon,” stammered Constance, 
straightening herself up. “I will control myself 
better hereafter. It is time for your cordial. May I 
pour it out for you ? ” 

It was inevitable that the confession she had medi- 
tated, while he told her of his arrangements for her 
future, betraying with a child’s artlessness the perfect- 
ness of his trust in his brother and in herself, the full 
outflow of penitence, and deprecation, and entreaty 
for pardon, of which the tears were but the type and 
premonition, should be checked by the querulous re- 
ference to his personal discomfort. But the sudden 
and disagreeable reaction induced by it was hardly 
an excuse for the hardening of her heart and dulling 
of the Sensibilities, just now so tender, which filled 
her mind with sullen resentment against him who 
had repelled her confidence. He will never under- 
stand me. We are as antagonistic as oil and water,” 
she excused this by thinking. “ The more closely I 
imitate his icy propriety the better matched we shall 
be. I was a fool to imagine anything else.” And 
thus slipped by the fairest chance of reconciliation 
and real union that was ever offered the ill-assorted 
pair. 

With Mr. Withers’ returning strength everything 


CHARYBDIS. 


377 


seemed to fall back into the old train. Except that 
invitations were less frequent as the season waned, 
and that Edward and Constance passed fewer evenings 
abroad and more at home, that Mr. Withers rode to 
his office every morning and returned at noon, to 
spend the rest of the day upon the sofa in the library, 
exchanging this after dinner for an easy-cliair in the 
parlor, the mode of life in the household varied in no 
important respect from what it had been prior to his 
accident. 

It was early in March when Constance perceived, 
or fancied she perceived, a marked alteration in the 
demeanor of her brother-in-law. He was not less 
kind, and his fraternal attentions were rendered freely 
and cordially as ever, but he was less gay, and was 
addicted to fits of abstraction, profound, although ap- 
parently not sad, while his absence from the family 
circle, without apology, became so common that it 
ceased to provoke Harriet’s frivolous wonder, and to 
disappoint Mr. Withers. Constance had never com- 
plained of or remarked upon this. But her mind was 
tossed night and day upon a tumultuous tide of con- 
jectures, she would fain have termed apprehensions, 
rather than hopes. Up to this date she had believed 
her love and her misery to be unshared and unsus- 
pected by him ; had reiterated, in her fiimsy self-de- 
ception, thanksgivings choked by tears that she was 
the only sufferer from her wretched folly. Did she 
grow suddenly cruel and base in the moment when 
the thought that the error was mutual awoke rap- 
tures, the remembrance of the suffering he must also 


378 


CHABTBDI8, 


taste had not power to still ? W as the salve to her 
self-respect supplied by the discovery that her di- 
vinity was a fallible man, impotent to resist the 
subtle temptation that had overcome her prudence 
and sense of right, worth the j)i’ice paid for it ? A 
new terror, more sweet than any joy she had ever 
known, soon laid hold of her. It was idle to ignore 
the fact that Edward furtively, but persistently, sought 
a private interview with her. She might disregard 
his beseeching glances, affect to misunderstand his 
signals and his uttered hints, might seek, in constant 
ministrations to her husband’s wants and whims, to 
guard herself, and to forget these omens of a nearing 
crisis. But she comprehended his designs ; marked 
with a thrill, that was the opposite of pain, his chagrin 
at his failure, and the augmented restlessness of his 
mien, betokening perplexity and desire. What was 
to be the end of this pursuit, and her evasion of it, 
when her own heart was the tempter’s strongest ally ? 
She dared not hear him say that she was dear to him 
as he had long been to her. Knowing, as she did, 
that she ought to spurn him from her at the remotest 
approach to this theme, she was never able to say 
wdth an honest purpose that she was likely to do it. 
If she doubted his intentions, she doubted herself yet 
more. 

It was by no connivance of hers that he gained his 
point. She was taking her usual afternoon drive one 
day alone, when she was aroused from a reverie by 
the slower motion of the carriage, to observe that the 
coachman had turned into a business thoroughfare 


CHAETBDI8. 


379 


instead of taking the most direct route homeward. 
“ J ohn,” she called, through the front window, where 
are you going ? What brought you here ? ” 

Mr. Edward told me to call for him at four o’clock, 
ma’am. I thought he had spoken to you about it,” was 
the respectful rejoinder. 

There was no immediate reply, and he checked his 
horses to inquire: Will I go back, ma’am ?” 

No ; go on.” 

She threw herself upon the back seat again, '\^ith 
throbbing pulses and a feeling that she had spoken 
the sentence which was to decide her fate for time 
and for eternity. “ Heaven help me to stand fast ! ” 
the tongue essayed to say, the while the heart was 
melting into tenderness, and vibrating with expecta- 
tion. 

It lacked ten minutes of the appointed hour w'hen 
they reached the office, but Edward stood upon the 
door-step, hat and gloves on. 

It is good in you to submit so quietly to my 
meddling,” he began, by the time he was seated. 
“ But I have something to say to you, a story to tell 
which I can keep no longer. You must have seen, 
although you have seemed not to do so, how I have 
dogged your steps for some weeks past, in the hope 
of stealing an opportunity for confession. I have 
sometimes ventured to believe that your woman’s 
wit and woman’s heart had penetrated my secret; 
that what entered so largely into my thoughts and 
motives, made up so much of my life, could not re- 
main hidden from your eyes. I wanted to tell you 


.380 


CHARTED 18. 


of it long ago, dear Connie, but the recollection of 
what was due to another withheld me, while I was 
yet uncertain that my love was returned. I had so 
little reason for hope, although hope has never flag- 
ged — mine is a sanguine nature, 3^011 know — that I 
hesitated to speak openlj^ Now that I can feel Arm 
ground under my feet, my happiness is mixed with 
much alloy. I must either take from one who is a 
hopeless invalid the ablest and most lovely nurse that 
ever man had ; condemn him, whose claim the world 
would declare to be superior to mine, to loneliness 
and sorrow, or consent to a season of dreary waiting 
before I can call my darling my own. Do 3"Ou 
wonder that thoughts such as these have preyed 
upon my spirits; racked me with anxiety, even in 
the blessed hour of assurance that my devotion was 
not wasted ? ” 

His rapid articulation had given Constance no time 
for reply, but her excitement equalled his, as she bent 
her veiled face upon her hands, and listened, in dumb 
alarm at the emotions rising to meet his avowal of 
love and longing. To her, what would have sounded 
incoherent to a third person, was explicit and fervent. 
He knew her as his mate, and would not give her up ; 
asserted his rights with a master’s authority, while 
his heart ached at thought of the woe in store for her 
nominal possessor. 

“ I have startled you by my vehemence,” he con- 
tinued, taking the hand that lay upon her lap. “ I 
feared lest this announcement might seem abrupt, 
but the steamer sails at flve o’clock, and I last nisht 

7 O 


CHARYBDIS. 


381 


obtained Evelyn’s permission to bring you to see her 
off. She owes you a debt of gratitude for your 
sisterly care of my lonely and graceless self. She 
loves you dearly already, as you will her when you 
have had one glimpse of her face. You reminded me 
of her the first day of our meeting. I had travelled 
with her and her sick father for three months, and at 
parting more than hinted at my attachment. With 
candor that would have driven me to desperation, 
had it been less mournful, she declared her intention 
not to marry while her father lived. ‘ He needs my 
constant care,’ she said. ‘ Without it he would die 
in a week. He will never be better. The kindest 
service you can do me, as the wisest you can do your- 
self, is to forget me.’ I have been steadily dis- 
obedient to her advice. I told her as much when I 
found out by chance two months ago that she was in 
the city. She was very resolute, for a time, often 
refusing to see me when I called, and again begging 
me, even with tears, to dismiss all idea of making her 
my wife. It is now a fortnigiit since her father un- 
expectedly announced his determination to return to 
Europe, and, in the anticipation of our second part- 
ing, she acknowledged that my love was returned. 
Our engagement would be an unsatisfactory one to 
most people, but she is the earthly impersonation of 
the angel of patience, and I can surely wait a few 
months, or even years, for a gift so precious. Her 
father is afflicted by a complication of disorders, the 
most serious being an organic affection of the heart. 
She is his only living child. It would be sheer bar- 


382 


CHARYBDIS. 


baritj to separate them, and with an invalid’s obsti- 
nacy he will not hear of taking up his abode in his 
daughter’s house, should she marry. My poor Eve- 
lyn, my gentle love ! She is a martyr, and I can do 
so little to lighten her burden ! ” 

“ It is veiy hard.” He had paused, and Constance 
must speak. 

Too preoccupied by his own reflections to note her 
thick articulation and studiously averted face, Ed- 
ward took up the word warmly. ‘‘Hard! AYhat 
could be harder for both of us ? ” 

She interrupted him by an impetuous gesture. 
“ You are talking wildly — wickedly ! Think what 
you would suffer if you loved without hope of re- 
quital.” 

He absolutely laughed. “As if that could be. 
Afiection, full and fervent as mine, holds a witch- 
hazel that never errs in pointing to the fount of 
answering love. Why, Connie, we were made for 
one another — Eva and I ! ” 

Was no scalding drop of bitterness to be spared 
from her cup ? Whose then was the fatal mistake 
which had opened the sluices of that other fountain, 
that was drowning her soul with cruel humiliation 
and anguish ? 

“ Drive as near to the steamer as you can, John ! ” 
called Edward, from his window, and in the appreci- 
ation of the truth that the sharpest ordeal was yet 
before her, and fearfully near at hand, Constance 
submitted to be handed from the carriage to the 
wharf. 


CHARYBDI8. 


383 


Through a bewildering haze she saw the noisy 
crowd, the smoke-stack of the monstrous vessel, stum- 
bled along the gangway connecting it with the shore, 
yielding passively to the impetus of Edward’s arm, 
and regained sight, hearing, and consciousness of 
pain when she stood in a handsome saloon, a small 
hand, warm as hers was icy, fluttering in her grasp, 
and a pair of dark, thoughtful eyes fixed upon her 
face. 

‘‘ Ic ou were very good to come,” said a low voice, 
fraught with emotion, yet steady. ‘‘Allow me to 
present my father, Mr. Pynsent. Mrs. Withers, fa- 
ther.” 

She looked and spoke the lady, and her father 
arose from his divan, supporting himself upon a cane, 
and saluted Mrs. Withers with stately politeness. 
Both were high bred, but it was not Evelyn’s beauty 
that had won her lover. Her eyes and mouth were 
her only really good features. Constance knew her- 
self to be the handsomer of the two, but the persua- 
sion added to the hopelessness of her ill-fated love. 
The qualities that had knit to this girl’s heart that 
of the man who had seen the beauties of two hemi- 
spheres, which had kept him true to her, and her 
alone, though opposed by absence, discouragement, 
and the wiles of scores of other women, lay beyond 
her power of analysis and counter-charms. She be- 
gan to understand how it had come to pass, when she 
had commanded her wits so far as to talk five minutes 
with Edward’s betrothed ; owned, reluctantly, that 
had she met .her, as new acquaintances generally 


384 : 


CHARTBDIS. 


meet, slie would have been irresistibly attracted by 
her winning ladyhood, and the countenance that 
united so much sweetness with sense and spirit. 

There was time now for little beyond the kindly 
commonplaces suitable to their meeting in a public 
place and their prospective parting, and even these 
Constance abridged ostensibly, and the others deem- 
ed considerately, that the last precious moments with 
his affianced might be all Edward’s. Without verbal 
pretext, she arose from her place beside Evelyn, and 
passed around to Mr. Pynsent’s side, engaging him 
in conversation about his voyage and destination. 
The atmosphere was a degree less stiffing there. If 
she moved, smiled, and talked mechanically, it mat- 
tered nothing now that the penetrating eyes she most 
dreaded never left their resting-place upon the visage 
of which they were taking a long farewell. There 
was little to be apprehended from the sick man’s 
restless .regards, which wandered incessantly from 
her to the betrothed couple, his gray eyebrows con- 
tracting with pain or mental disquiet as he did so. 
Had Evelyn been free to maintain her usual watch 
upon him, she would have taken alarm at these in- 
creasing symptoms of distress, and the livid hue set- 
tling upon his complexion. Constance did not notice 
these, until, simultaneously with the clanging of a 
bell overhead, and the rapid rush of feet toward the 
shore, he threw both hands outward, with the aim- 
less clutch of a sightless man, and fell against her as 
she sat by him on the sofa. 

The utmost confusion reigned in the saloon for a 


CHARTBDI8. 


385 


few moments — exclamations, inquiries, and orders — 
loud, varied, and useless. Then Edward’s strong 
voice recommended, in stringent terms, that the room 
he cleared of all except the immediate attendants of 
the sufferer, including a gentleman who had intro- 
duced himself as a physician. The spasm passed 
into a swoon, so deathly and protracted, that Con- 
stance was ready to believe the patient beyond the 
reach of earthly aid, notwithstanding the doctor’s as- 
sertion that he would probably revive, and even 
Evelyn murmured once when Edward would have 
confirmed the cheering assurance : “ It may be. I 
hope so ; but I never saw him quite so ill before.” 

Finally life fought its way back, inch by inch, to 
the worn heart ; the fingers relaxed from their rigid 
clinch, the lips were less purple, and the eyes were 
unclosed feebly upon the anxious group. When he 
could move, Edward and the physician supported 
him to his state-room, followed by Evelyn. Con- 
stance, left to herself, had leisure to observe what had 
not until now drawn her attention. The bustle of 
embarkation had ceased, but through the almost de- 
serted saloon sounded the measured throb of the pow- 
erful engines, as they urged the boat through the 
water. She threw open a window and looked out. 
They were already far down the bay, the spires of 
the city lessening in the distance, and the vessel un- 
der full headway. She met Edward at the state-room 
door with the startling intelligence. For an instant 
he looked as aghast as herself, then recovered his 
self-possession with a smile. She must compose her- 
17 


386 


CHARTBDIS. 


self and trust him to extricate them both from the 
predicament in which his thoughtlessness had placed 
them. The -worst that could befall them was a few 
hours’ delay in returning home. He would see the 
captain forthwith, and request him to signal the first 
homeward bound pilot-boat, or other vessel they 
might espy. 

Constance did -as he bade lier ; resumed her seat, 
and seemed to await the result of the affair patiently. 
“I am afraid your brother may be alarmed at our 
continued absence,” was her only remark. 

“ He will understand at once what has happened, 
when John goes home with the news that he drove 
us down to see the steamer off,” replied Edward, 
confidently. ‘‘We shall have a merry laugh to-mor- 
row at breakfast over our adventure. So long as you 
are not unhappy or angry with me, I am comfortable 
on the score of Elnathan’s* displeasure.” 




CHAPTEH Y. 

ILL" you have the kindness to ring that 
bell again, Harriet, and inquire whether 
Mrs. Withers has returned?” fretted the 
convalescent. “ It is after six o’clock, and 
I. am faint. for want of nourishment.” 

The duteous dependent obeyed, then slipped from 
the room to push investigations upon a plan of her 
own. In a quarter of an hour she reappeared with 
an agitated, yet important countenance, that arrested 
her cousin’s regards. 

“ What is it ? Where is she ? ” he demanded, im- 
patiently. ‘‘ You have heard something. Tell me 
at once what it is ! ” 

Harriet collapsed as gracefully as her unpliant 
sinews and stays would allow, into a kneeling heap 
upon the floor at his feet. “ My beloved cousin I My 
dear deceived angel ! I have heard nothing that sur- 
prised me. I dared not speak of it to you before 
now, agonizing as was my solicitude. You would 
have driven me from you in anger had I whispered a 



388 


CHARTED 18. 


word of what has been the town gossip for months, 
to which you only were blinded by your noble, your 
generous, your superhuman confidence in your be- 
trayers. I see that you are partially prepared for tlie 
blow,” as he grew pale and tried without success to 
interrupt her. “ Brace yourself for what you must 
know, my poor, ill-used darling ! Your brother and 
your wife have eloped to Europe in company ! ” 

For one second the husband staggered under the 
shock. His eyes closed suddenly, as at a flash of 
lightning, and his features Were distorted, as in a 
wrench of mortal pain. Then all that was true and 
dignified in the man rallied to repel the insult to the 
two he had trusted and loved. I do not believe it,” 
he said, distinctly and with deliberate emphasis. 
“ You are the dupe of some mischievous slanderer, 
my good woman. Edward Withers is the soul of 
integrity, and my wife’s virtue is incorruptible. Who 
told you this absurd tale ? ” 

“ Mrs. Withers stated to you that she was going to 
drive alone this afternoon, did she not ? ” Harriet 
forgot the pathetic in malicious triumph, as she pro- 
ceeded to prove her rival’s guilt. 

“ You heard her say it,” laconically, and still on 
the defensive. 

Yet John says she called by the office to take up 
Mr. Edward Withers, and that they drove in com- 
pany to the wharf, where lay an ocean steamer. He 
saw them go on board, arm in arm, and, although he 
waited on the pier as long as the vessel was in sight, 
they did not return.” 


CHARTED IS. 


389 


“ I will see the man myself.” Crossing the room 
with a firmer step than had been his since his illness, 
Mr. Withers rang the bell and summoned the coach- 
man. His evidence tallied exactly with Harriet’s re- 
port, and she flattered herself that the inquisitor’s 
manner was a shade less confident when the witness 
was dismissed. “You have said that this disappear- 
ance was not a matter of surprise to you, and added 
something about vulgar gossip. I wish a full ex- 
planation,” he said, still magisterially. 

Thus bidden, Harriet told her tale. Before their 
return to the city in the autumn, she had seasons of 
anxiety relative to the intimacy between Mr. Edward 
Withers and his beautiful sister-in-law. Hot, the 
unsuspecting virgin was careful to affirm, that she 
doubted then the good faith and right intentions of 
either, but she feared lest Mrs. Withers’ partiality for 
the younger brother might render her negligent of 
her husband’s happiness and comfort. The winter’s 
festivities had brought the two into a peculiarly un- 
fortunate position for the growth of domestic virtues, 
and eminently conducive to the progress of the fatal 
attachment which was now beyond the possibility of 
a doubt. Although one of the family, and known to 
be wedded to their interests, she had not been able to 
deter busy-bodies from sly and overt mention of the 
scandal in her hearing. She had, on such occasions, 
taken the liberty of rebuking the offender, and main- 
taining, in her humble way, the honor of her bene- 
factor’s name. But she could not silence a city full 
of tongues, and they had wagged fast and loudly of 


390 


CHABYBDI8. 


the husband’s indiscreet confidence in the guilt}^ par- 
ties, and their shameless treachery. 

He checked her when she would have dilated upon 
this division of her subject. “I will have no hearsay 
evidence. What have you seen f ” 

Harriet demurred, blushingly, not, as it presently 
appeared, because she had seen so little, but so much. 
Duets, vocal and instrumental, had been the veliicles 
of loving intercourse — hand-squeezing, meaning sighs 
and whispers. Her blood had often boiled furiously 
in beholding the outrageous manoeuvres practised in 
the very sight of their trusting victim. Her eyes, in 
passing from their smiles of evil import, their lan- 
guishings and caresses to the serene face bent over 
the chess-board, or wrapt in innocent slumber, had 
alternately overflowed with tears and glowed with 
indignation. 

“ But all this was as nothing compared with my 
sensations on the morning of the day in wliich you 
made your will. Chancing to enter your dressing- 
room, on my way to your bedside, I surprised Mrs. 
Withers and Mr. Edward Withers standing together, 
her head upon his bosom, his arms upholding her, 
while he whispered loving words in her ear. He 
kissed her at the very moment of my silent entrance, 
with this remark — ‘ We have too much to live and to 
hope for, to nurse unhealthy surmises and fears.’ I 
could testify to the language in a court of justice, and 
am positive that his reference was to your possible 
recovery.” 

“ Ho more ! ” The mischief-maker was scared out 


CHARTBDIS. 


391 


of her gloomy exultation by the altered face turned 
toward her. Please excuse me from going down to 
dinner to-day. I am very weary, and shall spend 
the evening alone,” pursued Mr. Withers, with a 
pitiful show of his old and pompous style. He arose, 
as a further signal that she must go, when she threw 
herself before him and clasped his knees. 

“ Elnathan ! ” the beady eyes strained in excruciat- 
ing appeal, “ do not banish me from you in this your 
extremity ! Who — who should be near you to sus- 
tain and weep with you, but your poor devoted 
Harriet — she whose life has but one end — the hope 
that she may serve and aid you ; but one reward, 
your smile, and so much of your love as you may see 
lit to bestow upon so worthless an object ? ” 

But in the honest sorrow that bowed the listener’s 
proud spirit to breaking, her factitious transports 
met no response beyond weary impatience. The ca- 
jolery that had flattered the unworthy complacency 
of his prosperous days rang discordantly upon his 
present mood. He wanted pity from no one, he said 
to himself, and, in his rejection of hers, there was a 
touch of resentment, the consequence of her unsparing 
denunciation of Constance. He might come to hate 
her himself, soon. Just now he almost abhorred the 
one who had opened his eyes to his own shame. 
‘‘You mean well, I dare say, Harriet,” he said, in 
his harshest tone, “but you are injudicious, and your 
ofiers of sympathy are unwelcome. I am sure that I 
shall shortly receive a satisfactory explanation of this 
mysterious affair. As to your gossiping friends, I 


392 


CHARYBDI8. 


can only regret that your associates have not been 
chosen more wisely. ^Now yon can go.” 

She made no further resistance, but hers was one 
of the chamber-doors that unclosed stealthily when, 
at midnight, the rattle of a latch-key sounded 
through the front hall, and was followed by the en- 
trance of the two supposed voyagers. There were 
more wakeful eyes under that roof that night than 
the master recked of, and a bevy, of curious gazers 
peered from the obscurity of the third story into the 
entry, where Mr. Withers had ordered the gas to be 
kept burning all night. 

“You see we are expected,” said Edwardj to his 
companion. 

Mr. Withers met them at the head of the stair- 
case, clad in dressing-gown and slippers. “ Ah ! here 
you are. How did you get back ? ” 

“ The obliging captain hailed a fishing yacht, and 
put us on board,” answered his brother. “ Have you 
been uneasy about us ? ” 

“ Only lest you might be carried some distance out 
before you fell in with a returning vessel. You look 
very tired, Constance. I shall not let her go with 
you again, Edward, unless you promise to take better 
care of her.” 

“ Tell him just how it happened, Connie,” laughed 
Edward, and the conference was over. 

“ They played their parts well all of them,” mut- 
tered Harriet, stealing back to her sleepless pillow. 
“ But they need not hope to gag people now that the 
scandal has taken wind ; ‘ murder will out.’” 


CHAEYBDI8. 


393 


Her sagacity was proved by tlie appearance in the 
next day’s issue of an extensively circulated journal 
of a conspicuous article, headed ^'‘Scandal in high 
life ! ” setting forth the elopement, per steamer to 
Europe, of the junior partner in a well-known bank- 
ing house with the beautiful wife of his brother, the 
senior partner of the aforesaid firm. The intimacy 
of the fugitives, the chronicle went on to say, had 
been much talked of all winter in the brilliant circle 
to which they belonged. The deserted husband was 
a citizen whom all delighted to honor for his busi- 
ness talents, his probity in public life, and his pri- 
vate virtues. “ This affliction falls upon him with the 
more crushing severity from the circumstance that 
he has been for some months an invalid. He has the 
sincere sympathy of the entire community.” 

The editor of the humane sheet, albeit not unused 
to eating his own words, never penned a more hum- 
ble and explicit retraction of “the unlucky error 
into which, through no fault of ours, we have fallen,” 
than graced his columns the following morning. He 
could hardly have expressed- himself more forcibly 
had Edward Withers really horsewhipped him, in- 
stead of threatening to do it, and to bring an action 
for libel as well. • 

Constance breakfasted in bed, at her husband’s 
request, on the day succeeding the Pynsents’ depart- 
ure. The popular daily, above referred to, lay as 
usual by Mr. Withers’ plate when he went down 
stairs, folded with what was known to its constant 
readei’s as the naughty corner outermost. Harriet 
17 * 


394 


CHAETBDI8. 


was engaged in concocting her cousin’s cup of foam- 
ing chocolate when he opened the sheet, but she 
both saw and heard the paper rustle like a poplar 
bough before a storm, then grow suddenly, unnatur- 
ally still. When Mr. Withers lowered it there was 
nothing in voice or expression to betray to his 
brother that aught was amiss. When the meal was 
over he repaired to his wife’s room, taking with him 
the newspaper which he had not, as was his custom, 
offered to pass to Edward. 

Without a word he spread it before the pale wo- 
man whose haggard countenance should have moved 
him to delay her accusation and sentence. One 
swift glance took in the import of the cruel article, 
and she buried her face in the pillow with a cry that 
destroyed what faint remnant of hope might, have lin- 
gered in his bosom. “ My sin has found me out ! ” 

A heavy hand was laid upon her arm. “ This is 
childish, Constance, and you have showed yourself to 
be no child in craft. IN^othing short of your own con- 
fession would have persuaded me that much contained 
in this paragraph is true ; that you have abused my 
confidence, sullied my name, and made me the object 
of universal contempt — ^you and — and — my brother ! ” 

Constance looked up eagerly. “ He has done no- 
thing, has said nothing inconsistent with honor and 
what he owes you. The weakness is all mine ; the 
folly, the madness, and the suffering. He never 
thought of me except as a sister. Surely his engage- 
ment proves this.” 

“What should your marriage have proved?” asked 


CHARTBDIS. 


395 


her husband, sarcastically. “ It may be as you say. 
If I believe it, it is not because you swear it is the 
truth. But I did not come here to waste time in re- 
proaches. There is but one way to put this scandal 
down; namely, to conduct ourselves as if we had 
never heard it. Of course, as soon as can be done 
without exciting remark, Edward must seek another 
home. Our removal to the country will aiford a con- 
venient opportunity for effecting this change. As to 
your reputation, I charge myself with the care of it 
from this hour. My error has been undue indul- 
gence.” 

Constance lifted her leaden eyes with a look of 
utter wretchedness. If you would but suffer me to 
go away and hide myself from all who know my mis- 
erable story, I would ask nothing else at your hands. 
You would the sooner forget the unhappiness brought 
upon you by the sad farce of marriage in which we 
have been actors.” 

“ On my part it has been no farce,” replied the 
stern, metallic voice. “ I have conscientiously ful- 
filled the duties made obligatory upon me by our con- 
tract. You entered into this voluntarily. For what 
you have termed your folly, you have only yourself 
to blame. You seem to have been tempted to your 
unhappy passion by an inherent love of wrong-doing. 
As to your proposal of flight and concealment, it is 
simply absurd. In the first place, you leave out of 
view the fact that my fair name would be tarnished 
by an open separation — the infamy you would hide be 
laid bare to the general gaze. Secondly, you have 


396 


CEARYBD18. 


no decent place of refuge. I know your brother • 
sufficiently well to affirm that his doors would be 
closed against you were you to apply to him for shel- 
ter as a repudiated wife. And you have no private 
fortune. I shall never again of my own accord al- 
lude to this disagreeable subject. Wc understand 
each other and our mutual position.” 

He kept his word to the letter. But henceforward 
his every action and look, when she was by, reminded 
her she was in bonds, and he her jailer. Too broken- 
spirited to resist his will, or to cavil at the demands 
made upon her time and self-denial by his cold im- 
periousness, she marched at his chariot wheel, a slave 
in queenly attire, whose dreams were no more of free- 
dom, to whom love meant remorse, and marriage 
pollution, the more hopeless and hateful that the law 
and the Gospel pronounced it honorable in all. 


THE END. 


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